


Cursed

by bloviate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, De-Aged Dean Winchester, De-Aged Emma Swan, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3302288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloviate/pseuds/bloviate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester and Emma Swan find themselves de-aged in a strange town. Who put them there? How do they break the curse? Why are they the only ones who seem to remember their real lives?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Emma ****  
**

Emma swan awoke with a start. Her heart was racing, and she felt as if she had just come out of a bad dream. Her mouth was dry and her nose was stuffed; this cold weather had her catching something. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, Emma groaned and sat up. That was when she noticed something was off.  


Emma had no idea where she was. She distinctly remembered heading home after the magic debacle at the mansion. She remembered settling down on the couch with her son, Henry, to watch Netflix. She remembered how warm she felt, how loved and loving, and she remembered falling asleep with Henry’s head on her shoulder.  


Glancing around, Emma noted curiously that the room she had been sleeping in almost certainly belonged to a teenage girl. The walls were painted a bright, up-beat violet; the vaulted ceiling had a white crown molding, making the room seem huge. There was a vanity at the end of the room. Intricately carved into the side was a pattern of roses twining up to the top, painted accordingly in colors of scarlet, white, and vine-green. There were several items scattered across the vanity’s counter, items Emma didn’t care enough to scrutinize.  


There was a dresser next to the vanity that looked as if it was vomiting clothes; they spilled out of the drawers onto the floor, jeans and t-shirts and socks, underwear and tank tops and sweaters. There were several smaller pictures, as many were hand-drawn as they were photographed, hanging on the walls, and three larger posters.  


The first poster was of Black Widow, a familiar character—Emma’s favorite Avenger—with ‘Marvel Avengers’ at the bottom. She was looking down, and an explosion was frozen behind her. The second poster was of a group of five men in a line, all dressed in black with stripes of red across their eyes. ‘My Chemical Romance’ was written hazardously in the upper left hand corner. The third poster was taped to the door, Keira Knightly as Elizabeth Swan, posed enigmatically at the side of the poster, the amber colors painting her in a gorgeous light. At the bottom of that was the title ‘Pirates of the Caribbean; Dead Man’s Chest’.  


The large window was draped with lacy white curtains, and through the window Emma could see trees; a lot of trees. They were mostly evergreen, with some skeletal deciduous ones mixed in.  


The thick blankets that covered her pointed to a teenage girls’ touch as well. The bright orange coverlet clashed terribly with the purple walls, yet Emma couldn’t help but admire the rebellious colors.  


Emma shook herself; rather than admiring the bedroom of a teenager, she needed to focus. Slipping out of the warm, firm, full-sized bed was difficult, made worse when she realized her feet were bare and she was stepping on frigid hard wood. She quickly moved her feet to the ocean-blue shag rug that took up most of the floor space in the room, and stood up.  


At the back of her mind, the Savior noted that she’d been changed from her brown leather jacket and all-black ensemble to cozy plaid flannel pajama’s, and she decided she would figure that out as soon as she figured out what the hell was going on. She needed to find out why she was sleeping in a stranger’s room.  


Exiting the room, Emma found herself in a foyer of sorts. There was a door to her right and a door across from her, a staircase that led down, and a small hallway next to the staircase which led to yet another door. Emma debated whether or not to try the door, but decided she would rather get to the bottom of the matter. Emma turned and faced the stairs.  


Holding her hands up in a defensive position, Emma felt relieved that she now had a grasp—however newfound and tenuous it was—on her magic. At least she would have some defense against whatever brought her here.  


She made her way quietly down the stairs, one slow step at a time, careful to test the boards for squeaking before putting her entire bodyweight on it. It was a slow process, but it would give her an advantage over whoever was waiting at the bottom.  


Finally, after several agonizingly slow minutes, Emma made it to the bottom. The stairs led down into an open room. There was a partial wall to her right, a pristine dining table across from her. To her left there seemed to be a living area, and there was another closed door between her and the living room. Choosing to scope out the dining room first, Emma was surprised by how…tastefully everything was decorated.  


The chandelier wasn’t gaudy, and didn’t drop very low from the ceiling; even the tallest person she knew would have no trouble walking underneath it. The table was a perfect circle, seated four, though there were only three places set, and was made out of some type of dark red wood.  


When she was inside the Dining room, which led straight into the kitchen and an adjoining eating nook, Emma realized that the kitchen wasn’t empty. She didn’t know how she hadn’t heard the noise of someone cooking yet, but once she did she cursed herself for being so stupid. It was probably around seven in the morning. Of course there would be someone in the kitchen making themselves breakfast.  


“I hope you’re not trying to sneak up on me, dear sister,” Emma gave a start when the woman spoke.  


She recognized her immediately.  


“Ingrid,” Emma replied darkly, standing tall. Her voice sounded off, though—not just the Snow Queen’s, but Emma’s too. Younger, somehow. Emma focused on her magic, tried to bring the familiar warm sensation of the Savior’s light magic to her fingertips; nothing happened.  


“Put your hands down, Emma,” Ingrid replied, turning around.  


“What are you doing here? Why the hell am I here?” Where is here? She didn’t voice the last question, though.  


“Language, Emma!” Ingrid snapped, putting her hands on her hips. Emma frown, crossed her arms over her chest and quirked an eyebrow.  


“What are you, my mother?”  


Ingrid’s cheeks turned red. It became truly apparent to Emma then; Ingrid had definitely gotten younger, by at least ten years. Her hair was still wavy and platinum blonde, pulled back into a long ponytail. Her cheeks were bright red with her annoyance at Emma. She looked happier somehow. She was wearing loose-fitting blue jeans and a v-neck white shirt decorated with blue snowflakes around the hem. She was barefoot.  


“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” a third voice intoned. Emma whirled around, relieved. It was Elsa, looking exactly as she always had, only dressed in a modern pair of dark jeans, yellow shirt with a white cardigan, and fur-lined blue winter boots.  


“Elsa,” Emma breathed, smiling. “Come on, together we can stop her. Hopefully she hasn’t cast the Spell of Shattered Sight yet.”  


“Oh, definitely the wrong side,” Elsa laughed, walking past Emma and into the kitchen. She sat at one of the stools situated next to the breakfast nook, pulled out a smart phone and started fiddling with it. “You’re going to have to get a ride with Mary-Margaret or Killian this morning, Anna and I need to get to class early to study for our chemistry exam. Kristoff is helping us,” she added with a smile.  


Emma floundered, unsure of what, exactly was going on. “You found Anna?” She decided, looking at Elsa with wide eyes. Elsa frowned, but shrugged.  


“Never really lost her, I guess.”  


“Where is Henry? Where is my son?” Emma asked, and then turned to Ingrid. “I swear to god if you’ve done something to Henry—”  


“Henry? Ms. Mill’s son, Henry? What do you want with him?” Elsa interrupted. “Never mind, I will never understand you, I swear.”  


“Don’t say that,” Ingrid spoke softly. “You better get dressed, Emma. Mary-Margaret likes to get to school early, too, and you are not riding Killian’s bike to school. I have told you a thousand times, you will not ride on that death-trap while you still live under my roof.”  


“I don’t live under your roof!” Emma exclaimed, getting frustrated. “Ugh!”  


“I don’t know what’s gotten in to you, Emma, but I will not handle your attitude. If this is how you act when—Emma? Emma, are you listening to me?”  


But Emma wasn’t listening anymore. She’d just turned to her left, running her hands through her hair in exasperation at the game of ‘House’ that was going on around her, when she caught a look at herself in the mirror. The face she was looking at wasn’t her own.  


Well, it was—but it was her face at sixteen years old. She had the same long, wavy blonde hair, and the same bottle-green eyes—though her eyes were wider, more innocent—and the same basic features. Just de-aged by several years.  


“Why am I sixteen?” Emma breathed, not taking her eyes off of her reflection.  


“Dear, are you feeling well?” Ingrid asked, coming up behind her. The older woman topped her by a couple of inches, and she peered curiously at Emma over her shoulder.  


“I…don’t understand?” Emma muttered. She steeled herself, and looked up at Ingrid with loathing in her eyes. “But I am going to get to the bottom of this, and when I do, you will pay.”

 **Dean ****  
**

Dean was freaking out.  


His morning had started as usual; he got up to the sound of Survivor’s ‘Eye of the Tiger’ halfway finished on the radio, dressed himself in a blue shirt with an unbuttoned olive green over shirt, blue jeans, and his black workers boots, and headed into the attached bathroom to brush his teeth. But when he looked in the mirror, he was greeted with a shocking sight.  


Dean Winchester looked to be only sixteen years old.  


Granted, he felt his sixteen year old self didn’t look that much different than his thirty-six year old self—he liked to believe he’d always retained a youthful glow—but it was a shocking reflection nonetheless, and he decided he had to get to the bottom of it, as soon as he found Sam.  


He’d headed out into the living room—since when did motel’s have living rooms, he wondered—running through the possible culprits of his de-aged self. He couldn’t recall pissing off any witches lately; of course, he’d pissed off a lot of people and monsters during his stint as a demon, but he’d mostly killed them all, too.  


It could be a djinn, he guessed, but then decided against that too. His hearts deepest desire had already been played out by a jinni, and boy had that been a memorable experience. One he almost hadn’t woken up from. No, his deepest desire sure as hell did not involve him regressing into a teenager. He laughed at the thought.  


He’d have to ask Sam for any other options, he realized. Unless it was an angel—were angels capable of that, he wondered? Even if they were responsible, Cas was running out of juice, so he would be no help. Sam was the best option. It was always his genius of a brother who did the research and figured out how to kill the things that went bump in the night.  


“Sam!” Dean called, grimacing when his voice warbled at the end. “Man, I friggin’ hate puberty! Sam?” Dean glanced around the living room, which was immaculately cleaned. Dean had never seen a motel room this pristine. Of course, his experience with motels was sketchy at best.  


“Dean, there you are. Come on, grab your backpack, we have to go.” Sam came into the living room from the kitchen, and was fixing his blue tie when Dean saw him.  


“Backpack? What the hell, man?” Dean frowned, glancing at Sam. It appeared that whatever was afflicting Dean, it hadn’t touched Sam. It was better that way, in Dean’s eyes. 

If this was something that could hurt him, he didn’t want his brother to be affected as well.  


Sam frowned, picking a dingy bag from the floor near a brown leather couch. He held it out to Dean, all the while reprimanding him. “Watch your language. You’re lucky Cas isn’t here to hear you talk like this.”  


Dean paled. “Sammy, come on man, what’s going on? Is this some kind of joke?” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Cause I ain’t laughing.”  


“Am not,” Sam corrected primly, grabbing a black brief case from the same place he’d grabbed the backpack. “And that’s Dad, to you. Now let’s go. Principal Mills was very clear that if you’re tardy again, you’ll be suspended. Honestly, Dean.” Sam shook his head, the hurried through the front door. Dean stared after him, shocked.  


“What the hell?” Dean muttered, trailing after his younger brother. Everything was confusing, but one thing was clear; Dean had a lot of research to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Dean try to understand what is happening to them.

****

Disclaimer: ****I own neither Once Upon a Time nor Supernatural, nor any of the characters/plots/dialogues contained therein.

**Emma ******  


“Mary-Margaret is here, Emma, you better go out and meet her. Have a nice day, sweetheart,” Ingrid added stiffly. Her thin pink lips were pursed, but she forced them into a smile. 

“Yeah,” Emma replied shortly, shouldering her book bag roughly. She hurried out the front door, nimbly dodging a hug from the Snow-Queen-Who-Wasn’t. 

After stating that the Snow Queen would pay for whatever she’d done, the kitchen had gone silent. No one had known what to say. Elsa had glanced quickly between Emma and Ingrid nervously; Ingrid had been gaping like a fish behind Emma, and Emma threw all of her will into a glare that would burn a hole through the Snow Queen’s façade. 

The complete silence had been broken a couple of seconds later by a knock on the front door. Emma hadn’t waited to see who was at the door, and instead tore right up to the room she’d woken up in. 

Everything was confusing. Emma was trying to figure out what was going on, but it was a difficult situation to decipher when she didn’t have the full picture. And that was exactly what she was going to get. 

So, dressing in some of the clothes she’d found spilling out of a dresser drawer, Emma readied herself for school. It was the best place to learn who knew what, if anyone else remembered their non-curse selves, and to figure out who cast the curse—if it wasn’t the Snow Queen, that was, which was where Emma was placing her bet. So to the school she would go. Mary-Margaret would be picking her up, so it would be easy to question her mom first. And then she would find Henry. 

“I love you,” Ingrid called out softly as Emma slammed the front door shut. Emma shuddered. 

That was one of the most terrifying things about the Snow Queen; how utterly freaking calm she was, so soft-spoken and mellow. To know that behind her tranquil exterior, there was an evil, cunning mastermind desperate to be some twisted sort of family with Emma and Elsa…Emma shivered again. 

“Emma, come on!” Emma glanced up, and bounded off the wrap-around porch, eager to test the waters with Mary-Margaret and see what her mother knew—if anything—that could help break whatever curse now held the town in thrall. 

“Curse,” Emma realized, stopping in her tracks. Of course. The only thing that would consistently break curses was right at her fingertips—as soon as she could get to Henry. True Love’s Kiss would work every time, and there was no love truer than a mother’s love for her child. Even if that failed to work, as it had failed to break Zelena’s curse, Emma could always start looking for the Story Book, to get Henry to believe again. 

“Emma! Come on, we have to pick up David!” Mary-Margaret shouted. Emma looked up at the teenaged Snow White and started ambling towards her. She was hanging out the window of a bright red 2004 Honda Civic. 

Mary-Margaret’s face was round and rosy, her soft black hair pulled into a side-braid that hung down to her waist, tied off with an apple-red ribbon. She wore a blue and white polka-dot button-up that didn’t look warm enough for the winter weather, and a knee-length black skirt with white tights. 

Emma grimaced when she noticed the apple-scented air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror. 

“Hey you,” Mary-Margaret grinned at Emma, and then started backing down the driveway. Emma had to admit, it was nice to see her mother’s face, even if this was a younger face than she was used to. 

“Hey,” Emma replied softly, then shook herself. Now was not the time to get sappy—now was the time to get answers. “How old are you?” 

Mary-Margaret looked startled, but she didn’t glance up from the road. “Um, I’m seventeen. Are you feeling all right, Emma? Ingrid said you were acting funny, but I figured it was just Ingrid being…well, Ingrid.” 

“And how is she usually?” Emma asked, trying to keep the anxiety from her tone. She was already freaking Mary-Margaret out from the first question; no need to make her think Emma was psychotic. 

“Oh you know,” Mary-Margaret said warily, as if she was worried about offending Emma. “She’s your older sister; she’s supposed to be a bit uppity and over-protective. And I’m sure she’ll let you go to prom with Killian, if you bring it up enough.” 

Emma frowned, wanting to ask who and where her ‘parents’ were in this cursed reality, but decided that it would be a bad idea in case they had died. It would be much simpler to find that out for herself. Instead, she asked the second question that popped into her mind.“Prom with Killian? Aren’t we sophomore’s?” 

Mary-Margaret did take her eyes off of the road this time, glancing at Emma curiously. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right Emma? We aren’t too far away from your house, I am sure Ingrid will be fine with you staying home a day from school.” 

“No, no, I’m fine,” Emma muttered, looking down. “I guess I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today…” 

Mary-Margaret nodded in understanding, and the car fell silent. No one spoke during the rest of the ten minutes of driving it took to get to David’s house. 

When they arrived at his house, he was waiting on the front porch. Emma had trouble holding back a laugh. 

Her father was the same age as she and Snow were, probably around sixteen or seventeen. He looked the same, but younger, as everyone seemed to…but there was one thing seriously different about him. David Nolan was sporting a dirty-blonde version of a Jesus haircut. 

His shaggy hair fell in scraggly waves almost to his shoulders, and while he didn’t have the matching beard, Emma thought he was a dead ringer. 

“Emma!” David exclaimed, smiling at her as he climbed into the back seat of the Civic. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m fine, David,” Emma replied with a small smile on her lips. She couldn’t help it; a chuckle escaped as she looked at him, seated contently in the back seat, sporting that mop of hair on his head. 

Though, glancing between her mother and father, she could certainly see their resemblance to her. It was almost scary how much teenage Emma looked like her mother, with her father’s eyes. Suddenly, Emma was somber. This, she realized, is the me that they missed out on. The me that was stolen from them, that they gave up. 

It almost made her want to keep things like this; cursed, in an alternate reality where her parents could watch her grow up, at least from the age of sixteen. 

But no; this world wasn’t real, it wasn’t the truth. She didn’t have Henry; Mary-Margaret and David didn’t appear to have Emma’s baby brother; Elsa didn’t truly have Anna. 

There was a litany of other things that were probably wrong, including the Snow Queen being her sister. No, Emma needed the truth. 

Emma Swan could never accept anything less than the truth. 

**Dean ******

“Um, hey, Dad,” Dean rolled his eyes, looking at Sam in the driver’s seat—the driver’s seat of a friggin’ Prius. Dean had no idea what Sam had done with his Baby, but he intended to find out. Dressed up in a monkey suit, he looked every bit the lawyer he’d intended to be at the start of their ten-year road trip. His hair was even cut to an acceptable length, level with the middle of his ears and slicked back. “After school I’m going to head to the library. Get in some after school, uh, reading done.” 

“I didn’t know you had a library card,” Sam replied, glancing over at Dean. “But that’s fine; just make sure you’re home in time for dinner. Cas is making eggplant and zucchini lasagna.” 

“Yeah, about that,” Dean started, wondering how Cas was included in this equation of mistaken identities at all. He was an angel; shouldn’t he be above the whole role-swap thing? “Since when is Cas living with us, making bird food lasagna and making sure we get home in time for dinner?” 

Sam sighed, using one hand to rub his temples. “I know you’ve been confused since your mother died, but this is getting ridiculous Dean. Cas wants to be there for you as much as Jess was—hell, half the time he was! You just have to open up and let him. He’s a good guy, Dean, and he makes me happy. I wish you would try and accept him.” 

Dean spluttered, but didn’t say anything more. Sam and…and Cas, he thought. What was it that Sam had called it after the play, Samstiel? Sastiel? Whatever it had been, Dean was confused. 

“We’re here,” Sam intoned. 

Dean nodded. He wanted to say something, anything that would clear things up between him and his brother, but he couldn’t find the words. So instead, he hopped out of the car, heaved the backpack onto his shoulder, and strutted towards the high school. It hadn’t taken him long to decide that his first course of action should be to scope out the high school—and what better way was there to do that than going to the school he actually went to in this reality? 

He wasn’t particularly excited about the prospect of repeating his sophomore year. But then again, he wasn’t keen on repeating the next twenty years either—and this time with Sam, Jess, and Cas as his parents. He’d get to the library eventually, but first he needed to see if there was anyone he recognized de-aged at the high school like he was. Or, even better, anyone else who remembered their real life like he did. 

Besides, he thought, how hard can high school be these days? 

“Dean!” A female voice exclaimed. Grinning, Dean turned, ready to turn on the lady-killing charms he’d had since he was a kid. “There you are, I was worried you’d skip again and leave me to face presentation day alone.” 

The tall, vaguely familiar looking female who’d approached Dean did not greet him with a hug, or a squeal, or a kiss as he’d expected. Instead, she greeted him with a scowl deep enough to rival his own. She had sharp cheekbones, narrowed green eyes and long chocolate brown hair. She was dressed in a short black and white plaid skirt with red leggings, black ankle boots and a white blouse, wearing a leather jacket. If looks could kill, Dean imagined he’d be fried on the spot. 

“Uh, can I help you?” Dean narrowed his eyes on the red-lipped girl, standing up straighter. 

The girl rolled her eyes. “Come on, Dean, we have to make it to first period early so that we can go over lines. I will not cover for you like I did during our last presentation.” 

As quickly as she came, she was walking away, her hips swaying dramatically from side to side. 

“I didn’t catch your name,” Dean stated after catching up to the girl. 

“Shove off Dean, you know my name is Ruby,” Ruby replied, walking faster. Her eyes flicked across the crowd of teenagers easily. Dean tried to keep up while surveying the student body, desperate so see someone he actually knew rather than just someone who looked vaguely familiar. He dismissed the idea that it was Demon Ruby—Dean had ganked that Ruby himself, with her own demon blade no less. There were no come backs from that particular fate, unless God himself was the one pulling her from death—and Dean highly doubted that this mess was God’s work. 

Dean kept pace with Ruby while they walked to their first period, dreading class more than he had the first time around. It’s just a part of the job, he told himself, praying that the mantra would get him through the day so that he could check out the library. 

The school, Blue Lake High School, was well kept, he had to admit. The front lawns were green, even though it was nearing the middle of November. There were two maple trees on either side of the front entrance that still had orange and red leaves clinging to the branches, and there were no dead leaves on the sidewalks. He decided the town must be a small one, since it was a multi-functional school. The left wing apparently held grades nine-through twelve, the right schooled grades six through eight, and the portables at the back of the school were a mixture of both. 

Dean wordlessly followed Ruby as they hurried through the crowded hallways, to a classroom that was at the very back of the left wing. He didn’t even get a chance to settle into a cramped desk before there was a commotion near the doorway. 

“No, you don’t understand, I have to find my son, I have to kiss him! I have to break the curse; it’s my job as the savior! Please Regina—” The young voice was interrupted by a harder one, spoken by a woman Dean could just make out through the door. 

“Miss Swan, you are out of line—” The older woman was interrupted. 

“No Regina, trust me, it will all make sense if you just let me kiss Henry!” 

“Miss Swan. First and foremost, please refrain from speaking about my son in such a manner. I will not tolerate this sort of disrespectful behavior in my school. Additionally, that is Principal Mills or Ms. Mills to you. You have two options right now; either head to your first period class or follow me to my office.” And with that, the dark haired woman turned away, revealing a young blonde girl. 

Dean repeated what he heard a couple times in his head, coming to the conclusion that he had to speak with the chick. She may be crazy as a cuckoo bird, but if there was even an off chance that she was truly an adult, with a child—that apparently was the Principal’s kid now—Dean had to find out if she was useful. 

“I feel bad for Emma,” Ruby commented next to Dean, having seen the episode herself. Emma Swan, Dean committed the name to memory, attaching the young blonde face to it. The girl turned and sulked away, and Dean pulled his attention to his apparent school buddy. 

“And why is that?” Dean asked, hoping he didn’t know the reason in this reality. Thankfully, this Ruby chick seemed to like talking, and she answered the question without even a curious look. 

“She was pretty messed up after her parents died—seemed like she took it harder than either of her sisters. Almost everyone in school was pretty wary of her for the first few months afterwards. We used to be friends, but she’s not one for company anymore. Except the company of her boyfriend, and Mary-Margaret and David.” Ruby frowned. 

“Where do you think she’s going?” Dean grabbed his backpack—this was too good of an opportunity to miss out on. Not only did he get to skip the whole school ordeal, maybe he’d figure out whatever was happening in this town. 

“Probably the library, that’s where she usually—Dean? Oh no Dean, you are not walking out on me on presentation day again.” With a greater strength than she should have possessed, Ruby grabbed Dean’s arm and yanked him back into his seat. He stared at the girl angrily, but she didn’t budge. “You can follow her after our presentation. Besides, I doubt she’ll want to be approached by a complete stranger after being humiliated like that.” 

Dean sighed, slumping back down into the hard chair. This was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty then, second chapter is up, I hope you all enjoy! And if anyone caught it, Ruby looks familiar to Dean because the actress, Meghan Ory, played a character as some sort of monster on Supernatural. I thought it would be funny; there's not anything that will come of it, though.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Emma meet.

**Disclaimer:** I own neither Once Upon a Time nor Supernatural. I am simply borrowing the characters within them without explicit permission from the show’s producers for the time being.

**Emma**

After arriving at Blue Lake High School—she was confused; shouldn’t the curse have kept them in Storybrooke?—Emma followed Mary-Margaret and David through the school, happy that they all shared a first class. In fact, she was ecstatic to find that they shared the exact same schedule, but that was beside the point.

When they reached the classroom, Emma decided that luck was on her side. Leaning up against a row of dark blue lockers was Henry, surrounded by a group of his friends. Relieved to see Henry, but also anxious because it looked as if he had actually gotten _older_ , Emma started towards him, ignoring the questioning looks from Mary-Margaret and David.

Looking at the young man before her, who was probably fifteen or sixteen, put her situation back in the real world into perspective for Emma.

For the past few years, Emma had had to deal with being the same age as her parents—great, nothing had really changed there with this new curse. The same dynamic was there with Emma and her parents now, even if it was altered slightly with them being peers instead of family.

But now with Henry, Emma was playing for the other side. Her son was as old as she was. Granted, none of them were _truly_ the age they looked, but it was the same principal. And it felt strange.

Emma smiled briefly at the sight of her son’s teenaged face. A few of years older and he was looking more like his father than ever. He’d sprouted up a couple of inches, and was now taller than Emma; his hair was cut shaggy and long. Henry had grown into his nose, and he was looking all-around like the young man Emma knew he was. His smile was huge as he laughed at something one of his friends was doing.

Emma approached him eagerly, almost certain that her kiss would awaken his memories and revert everything to normal. But just as she reached him, a familiar figure stepped in front of her.

The curse had certainly done Regina good. She barely looked old enough to have Henry as her child; her slim figure was clothed in an impeccable indigo pantsuit and a grey blouse. Her hair was long and pulled into a tight braid, which fell down to her waist. She wore a modest amount of make-up—light coral lipstick, brown eye-shadow, and a thin line of eyeliner which made her chocolate eyes look larger. Overall, Regina not only looked younger, she looked different…happier. Definitely as if she was benefitting from the curse.

Regina _was_ on the suspect list, but she was the one Emma suspected the least.

“Miss Swan, your class is that way,” Regina informed Emma, not unkindly. Emma turned to glance back at the door in time to see a young Ruby walking into the classroom, tailed by a face Emma didn’t recognize. She didn’t know _everyone_ in the town, but there was something peculiar about the boy’s appearance.

Turning back to Regina, Emma smiled slightly. “Actually, if you’ll just excuse me, I have something else I need to do first.”

“There are only a couple of minutes before the first bell rings, you don’t want to be late to class again, Miss Swan.”

_Right_ , thought Emma. _She’s the principal in this reality._ “I’ll make it to class on time, I actually have to see Henry about something though, so if you’ll excuse me…” Emma tried stepping around Regina, but the principal countered her movements with a side-step of her own.

“Your record with making class on time is not admirable.” Regina leaned in close to Emma, narrowing her eyes in a warning. “And I would suggest you not allow your behavior to rub off on my son.”

Emma narrowed her eyes right back at Regina. She had been intending to play nice with the older woman—she was, after all, under the influence of a judgment-clouding curse—but it had been a rough morning for Emma, and her patience the obstruction was wearing thing.

However, suggesting that Emma would influence _her son_ in a negative manner was one of Emma’s own insecurities, and brought Emma right back to her talk with Archie when she’d wanted to fight for custody over Henry before the first curse was broken.

“I will _rub off_ on whoever I _want_ to rub off on. Now if you will _excuse_ me—”

“ _You_ will be expelled from school and never see Henry again, Miss Swan,” Regina countered.

The blood drained from Emma’s face. She felt frantic, and tried to remedy the situation without thinking of how the other woman would take her words.

“No, you don’t understand, I have to find my son, I have to kiss him! I have to break the curse; it’s my job as the savior! Please Regina—” Just as Emma realized what she was saying, she was interrupted again.

“Miss Swan, you are out of line—”

Emma groaned, replying “No Regina, trust me, it will all make sense if you just let me kiss Henry!”

“Miss Swan. First and foremost, please refrain from speaking about _my son_ in such a manner. I will not tolerate this sort of disrespectful behavior in my school. Additionally, that is Principal Mills or Ms. Mills to you. You have two options right now; either head to your first period class or follow me to my office.” And with that, Principal Mills walked away.

Emma was frustrated and humiliated. Her shoulders slumped, and she truly felt like she had when she was a teenager; defeated, unwelcome, and wholly unwanted. Ignoring Mary-Margaret and David, who had witnessed the entire interaction and were trying to figure out what was wrong with Emma, Emma stalked away towards the school’s entrance. She didn’t know where she was going to go, but she knew she couldn’t stay at the school.

After only a couple minutes of walking, Emma found the perfect place to wait for school to get out—the library. She would be able to look for the story book.

**Dean**

Dean followed after Emma Swan as soon as his first period class got out. He’d gotten directions to the library from Ruby, who was reasonably relieved when Dean pulled note cards out of his back pack that had written on them exactly what he would need to say for the history presentation—Dean had already forgotten what it was about.

The library was actually only a block down the road from the high school, which was convenient for Dean. He didn’t mind walking, but there was a chance that Emma wouldn’t be there after an hour—and even a chance that she had never even gone there at all. Still, it was worth a shot—and it got him out of school. Sam would be disappointed when he found out, but hell, that was their entire relationship! And anyways, Dean planned on resolving this before Sam’s disappointment became his biggest issue.

The library was large for such a small town; the parking lot alone would probably allow for up to a hundred cars. Luckily for Dean, as soon as he walked past the window, he saw one Miss Emma Swan browsing the shelves labeled ‘Children’s’. _Huh_ , Dean thought _, odd topic for a teenager._

Inside, Dean happily absorbed the warmth, feeling slightly naked since he’d not grabbed a jacket on his way out of the house. The librarian, an young woman seated behind a too-tall counter, eyed Dean curiously.

Dean smirked. “Sup?” The librarian pressed a finger to her lips. “Sorry,” Dean added in a faux-whisper.

Glancing around, Dean followed the first aisle closest to the window. He quickly spotted Emma, and advanced upon her at once.

“Hey,” Dean said conversationally, turning up the charm. He was aware that he was stuck in the body of a teenager; this would work to his advantage if Emma Swan was, in fact, a teenager as well. Hell, it would work to his advantage even if she _wasn’t_ a teenager—Dean had that affect on women no matter the age.

Emma looked up at him, and Dean found himself caught off guard at her startlingly green eyes. They were almost as green as Dean’s own eyes, and framed by thick black eyelashes. “Uh, hi,” she muttered, and turned her body back towards the bookshelves, effectively ignoring Dean.

Dean frowned. “Name’s Dean, saw you in the hall this morning with the principal. What was all that about?”

He didn’t usually approach situations like this so bluntly, especially with friggin’ _kids_. But Dean had always been good at reading people, and Emma didn’t look like the kind of kid who would just open up eventually with soft-spoken conversation starters. That was Sam’s area of expertise anyways. Dean would get more answers out of her by being direct and to the point.

Emma glanced up at him, gave him a once-over, and then turned away again. “It was pretty obvious, I think. Principal Mills seems to have a bone to pick with me, so I obliged her.”

She still wasn’t paying her full attention to him. “What kind of bone would a principal have to pick with one of her students?”

Emma shrugged but didn’t answer him. She was standing on her tip-toes to be eye-level with the book spines on the top of the book shelf. Dean thought about offering to read the titles for her, but dismissed the notion. She didn’t look the type to accept help from strangers.

“Well what was all that about you needing to see your son? You don’t look old enough to have a kid.”

Emma smiled wryly at that, finally giving her full attention to Dean. “Yeah, well, sometimes people say crazy things.”

“Yeah, see, here’s what I don’t get; you were going to kiss the kid, who you claimed to be your son, to break a curse.”

Emma just stared at him. There was a calculating look in her eyes, and Dean took that as a good sign. If she was trying to figure him out, trying to deem what information he could be trusted with, that most likely meant that she knew _something_ more than she was letting on. Dean quietly allowed the scrutiny, eyeing her as well.

Emma’s eyes narrowed finally, and she fired off a question of her own. “How come I haven’t seen you around town before today?”

It was a simple enough question, or so it would seem to any regular person who was being affected by this so-called ‘curse.’ But Dean saw right through it. If answered correctly, he would be included in on her little secrets. If he said the wrong thing however, Dean knew that Emma would clam up like an oyster around its pearl, and he wouldn’t be able to get _anything_ out of her. Dean weighed his potential responses, wondering if he should just say the blatant truth or be a little more tactical about it.

In the end, he went with the blunt truth. It was what he was good at, after all. “Because this town didn’t friggin’ _exist_ before today.”

Emma’s eyes widened, blinding him with their greenness. She smiled as if in relief, and leaned against the bookshelf on her right. “You remember!” She exclaimed. “I mean, you remember the _real_ world. So, who are you really?”

Dean smirked, satisfied that he’d found someone else who knew the truth. But now he was faced with a different set of questions—at least he would have a partner to figure them out with.

“Dean Winchester, and you?”

Emma frowned slightly, though the smile was by no means wiped off of her face. “Emma Swan, I’m sure you’ve heard of me. But no, I meant who _are_ you? You know, your Enchanted Forest counterpart? I don’t recall seeing you anywhere in Storybrooke, but I’ve by no means memorized all the citizens.”

Dean frowned. “Enchanted Forest counterpart? What do you mean? Why would I know you?”

Emma’s smile lessened some more. “You know, daughter of Prince Charming aka David Nolan and Snow White aka Mary-Margaret? The Savior? Frankly, you could probably make a good Prince Charming too. So, who are you?”

Dean just stared at her. What the hell was she talking about? Snow White, as in the little girl who’s step-mother had given her some bleach? How the Hell did Emma know about that? And why was she saying her parents were Snow White and Prince Charming? Furthermore, where the hell was Storybrooke supposed to be?

“Come on, it can’t be _that_ embarrassing,” Emma prompted. “Never mind, it’s none of my business. Would you help me look for this story book, though? It’s big and brown and leather, and it has ‘Once Upon a Time’ in really fancy gold lettering on the front. I think it might help break the curse.”

Dean didn’t respond. He was open to any curse-breaking possibilities, sure, but he was stuck on the fact that this chick thought her parents were fairy tale characters. Was she for real? Maybe she wasn’t actually remembering the real life. Maybe she _was_ just as loony as they came.

Taking a step back, Dean started to turn away. “Actually, I don’t think this is what I was looking for.” He didn’t know how else to extract himself from her random musings. Stepping away, Dean nodded towards Emma, who was looking back at him with a confused look on her face.

“What are you talking about; can’t you help me break this curse?” She sounded almost hurt. But then her face hardened, and she turned away from him. “Whatever, I’ve done it before; I can do it myself again.”

And she was back to ignoring him. Dean felt slightly guilty, but quickly stifled the feeling. He didn’t need to get soft right now, not when his brother needed him so they could get out of this strange suburban alternate reality and focus on finding a job. They’d found exactly zero job’s since the play—no jobs across the entire country. Something was up, and Dean needed to figure it out. He couldn’t figure _anything_ out, though, trapped as a teenager with his brother and angel brainwashed.

Turning away from the girl, Dean walked out of the Children’s section but stopped just short of walking out the library’s door. He _did_ need to do some research on this curse. And the best place for research was the library, unfortunately. Turning back around, Dean made it into the first row of books labeled ‘Myths and Legend’s’ when he felt someone watching him.

Whirling around, Dean found himself face to face with Cas.

“Cas!” Dean exclaimed, and then shut his mouth. He didn’t know if he was supposed to call Cas something else in this reality, given that he was like a step-parent to Dean or something.

“Dean, I don’t have much time,” Cas replied, his voice sounding strained. “Things are not what they seem in this place.” Castiel gasped, clutching at the place above his heart. Dean grabbed his elbow and guided him to his knees just as Cas’s legs gave out.

“Cas, what the hell is going on, man? I thought you were shacking it up with Sammy.” Dean looked Castiel up and down, not liking what he saw. “Man, you look like hell.”

He was dressed in a suit and tie, though the tie was properly tied and red and his suit was a light grey. His dark brown hair looked like it _had_ been brushed, but was now slicked down close to his skull with sweat. His face was waxy, and there were fever spots high up on his cheeks. His throat twitched as he swallowed.

“Dean, you must help Emma Swan. Things aren’t what they seem. You have to—” he swallowed again, closing his eyes briefly. “Have to break the curse before it finishes. Otherwise…” Cas trailed off, but Dean could finish the sentence on his own. A pit was forming in his stomach; his gut was churning nauseously as he realized what he had to do.

“Otherwise we won’t be able to break it,” Dean muttered. Castiel nodded grimly, grimacing in pain. “What’s happening to you? Who brought us here? How do I fix it? How does _she_ fix it?”

Castiel couldn’t answer any of the questions. He was shuddering and twitching, could barely control his own movements. His eyes were closed, and he was muttering something. Dean leaned in close, trying to hear while simultaneously trying to keep his angel friend still.

“One month,” Cas was saying. “One month, one month, one month…” and then he went quiet. And in a burst of light, Castiel disappeared.

Dean was left kneeling there on the floor, his hands wrapped around the space Castiel had just been occupying. A cold knot of dread was growing in his mind. He had one month to help this Emma chick figure out how to break a curse. Or he and Sam would be trapped like this forever.


	4. Elsewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsewhere, two mysterious figures have an interlude

**Outside Blue Lake High School**

“Rather disgusting, isn’t it? Look at the way he’s fawning over her.” The middle-aged man sighed, rubbing at his temple. His high-pitched voice grated at the young woman’s ears. She couldn’t understand how _abnormal_ everything felt in this town, how _human_. She couldn’t see her partner’s true face, only the vessel he inhabited. The _body_.

“I believe that is Snow White and—”

“Mary-Margaret. That is what she is called in this universe.” The woman sighed at his interruption. However, for the sake of hurrying things along, she allowed herself to be corrected.

“ _Mary-Margaret_ and David. They are a True Love couple, in their own universe.”

“They are a true love couple in our universe too,” the man grouched. “Only the _magic_ doesn’t transfer, unless there is existing magic.”

“This situation, this…separate reality that you’ve created for them. How long will it last before it is broken with true love?” The young woman scrutinized the high-school couple seated on the grass across from her, hardly believing that their young adoration would be strong enough to break anything created by an angel of the lord. Of course, these two—and nearly everyone else in the town—were much older than their physical ages would have them believe.

“Oh this separate reality? It will last forever.” The man replied casually. He might as well have been saying “Oh, this jacket? I’ve had it awhile” for all the care he put into that sentence.

The young woman was confused. She turned towards the man, and had to look down since she was a couple of inches taller than he in the vessel that she inhabited. She frowned. “Then what is all the fuss about having to complete your mission within a month’s time? Why set a time limit to it?”

“The separate reality will last forever. Of course it will; I created it. However, these people are not of our world. This is why they could not have been left in Storybrooke. That town was created by the magic of their world—it has no magic of its own, but it will preserve the magic within each of the Enchanted Forest’s denizens. It will allow an iota of magic to grow, fester, until it is an oozing blister on the face of the Earth. But if we take the inhabitants out of Storybrooke, their magic will wear off. It will fade. And it just so happens that the magic takes a full month to disappear completely.

“Only a kiss of true love with one person possessing solely Light magic will bring back the memories. Neither Mary-Margaret nor David possesses magic within them. Their child holds no light magic within him, and he’ll grow up happily being none the wiser towards his heritage. Regina has dark magic within her, as does Mr. Gold. Only Emma Swan has the power to break this. If she performs a kiss of true love, the entire town will be forcibly sucked back to Storybrooke, reverted back to normal.”

The woman took the information in quietly, watching the magical couple with only a slight amount of envy. When she was finally ready to respond, the man interrupted her again.

“Once a month passes, there will be no hope of reclaiming their memories. No hope of reverting back. Sam and Dean Winchester will be taken care of. Castiel will be pulled out in time of course, per our agreement. And we will no longer have to deal with the problem of interference from another universe.”

The young woman bowed her head. She spoke authoritatively, “Leave now. Bring forth the prize you promised, I will ascertain that the residents of ‘Blue Lake’ have no opportunities to fall in love with Emma Swan.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Emma talk.

**Emma**

“So, uh, still need that help?” Emma was startled when she was approached once more by Dean Winchester. She wasn’t sure who he was in the Enchanted Forest, and it still puzzled her that she couldn’t seem to recall his face from Storybrooke, but she had been relieved when she found out that he remembered life before this curse.

All that relief had washed down the drain when he had backed off with a face that said he thought Emma was crazy.

“Like I said, I can manage fine on my own,” Emma replied, rolling her eyes and turning back to the bookshelf.

She was only halfway through the Children’s section, despite the fact that she had been there for more than an hour. This library was huge, and the Children’s section seemed to be the largest. If she couldn’t find the book here, she would move on to Myth’s and Fairytales, which was only a slightly smaller section. Whoever had cast this second curse certainly had a love for books.

“Well, you don’t have to.” Dean shuffled his feet. Emma turned away from the bookshelf, marking her place with a finger. Dean stood before her, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders stiff, and his lime-green eyes hard. His square jaw was clenched tightly, and his body language practically screamed that he felt awkward.

“What caused your change of heart?” Emma asked, frowning.

Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Let’s just say the angel on my shoulder changed my mind.”

Emma shrugged, accepting the answer. In a way, it was like Killian’s change of heart when he took off on the Jolly Roger with the bean, but eventually came back.

Emma supposed that Dean _did_ sort of have the same pretty-boy face that Killian did. Or proto-pretty-boy, at least. Emma wondered what he looked like at his real age—however old that was. There seemed to be neither rhyme nor reason to the de-aging process, or in Henry’s case, the accelerated aging.

“So…A book that is big brown and leathery, with Once Upon a Time in gold lettering,” Dean tilted his head, seeking confirmation.

Emma nodded, and turned back to the bookshelf. “I’ll get low, you get high?”

Dean chuckled, saying “Ah come on, at least buy me dinner first.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything back. She quickly became absorbed in scanning the bottom three shelves of books.

“So, what exactly is this story book supposed to do? How can we expect it to break this curse?” Dean asked.

Emma glanced up at him, but he was staring resolutely at the books before him. “My son. If true love’s kiss doesn’t work on him, getting him to believe in magic will.”

“And the story book will get him to believe?”

Emma nodded. “It details the lives of everyone who lived in the Enchanted Forest, including my parents, Henry’s grandparents. It’s gotten him to believe…twice before.”

“Twice? How many curses have you been through?” Dean sounded incredulous.

Emma frowned, and was silent for a moment. The way he was talking, it seemed as if he really wasn’t aware of what had been going on in story brook. _Does he live under some rock or something_ , Emma wondered. In the end, she warily replied “A couple of them…the Snow Queen was about to cast the Spell of Shattered Sight before all of this went weird, or maybe she did cast it and this was the actual outcome…and Regina and her family have been heavy-handed with the cursing…and I suppose even my parents have casted a curse.”

“Whoa, hold up, are you saying you know who cast this thing?” Dean was suddenly excited. He knelt down beside Emma, and she found herself staring into his eyes. She looked away, uncomfortable.

It wasn’t that she found Dean to be uncomfortable. It was more like she found him attractive—which was weird, since he looked only sixteen, but was probably actually her age.

“I have my suspicions, yeah.”

“Well why don’t we just go find the guy and gank him—or her?” Dean looked perplexed.

Emma _was_ perplexed. “What—what does _gank_ mean?”

“Emma, love, why aren’t you in class?” Emma’s head snapped up, and she almost couldn’t contain the adoring smile that spilled across her face.

“Killian, you look…” But she couldn’t finish that sentence. She wanted to say he looked adorable, and completely unlike anything she would have imagined.

His dark hair fell in wavy curls to his ears, and wide cornflower eyes. His face looked thinner, his cheekbones were sharp, and there was a baby sprouting of stubble around his defined chin. He looked young—he _was_ young—and Emma wanted to wrap him in a tight hug.

Instead, she smiled, standing up. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you!” He grinned, reaching towards her. She noticed that he had the hand attachment instead of his hook.

Emma allowed herself to be pulled into a hug, noticed that Killian was a couple of inches shorter than he was as an adult.

Dean cleared his throat behind her, and she pulled away. “We should probably get back to school. But let’s figure out some time to work on our math project?”

“Right, yeah, you can come over to—”

“I thought you two only have history together?” Killian glanced between Emma and Dean in confusion.

“Right!” Emma exclaimed, glancing back at Dean nervously, then up to Killian. “But we’re doing it on the History…of math. The scientific revolution, actually.” _That had something to do with math, right?_

Killian looked confused for a moment, but shrugged, throwing his arm across Emma’s shoulders. “Right, love. Well, we must get back to class.” Killian nodded at Dean, smiling. “Be seeing you.”

“Um, Dean, after school?” Emma hedged, glancing around the library. She was having doubts on whether the book would be found in the library, since it had shown up in Mary-Margaret’s closet both times.

“We’ll meet up,” Dean confirmed, one side of his lips tilting up into a smile.

Emma nodded awkwardly, and turned with Killian.

“Since when are you skipping class with Dean Winchester?” He muttered into her ear, nodding at Belle—who didn’t appear to have aged or de-aged at all, which put Rumpelstiltskin higher up on the list of possible suspects.

“I don’t know,” Emma replied noncommittally. “I think I may be spending more time with him, though. You know…the project.”

 

**Dean**

Dean stood around awkwardly for a moment after Emma left, but then decided to get back to checking the book shelves. He _certainly_ didn’t want to go back to the hellhole of a school, and the sooner he got this curse thing figured out, the better.

He had a few questions that he intended to ask Emma, but he could get those answered after school. He had to figure out exactly what Cas meant when he said ‘Things are not what they seem.’ And Dean figured, anyways, the best way to learn more about this situation was to find the story book, read it—Dean groaned at the thought; Sam was always the one who read things—and figure out the back story to this town.

He finished searching the Children’s section relatively quickly, considering how large the section was. So many books for kids!

Dean could remember taking Sammy to libraries when their Dad was off on a hunt, or drunk at home. It didn’t take long for Sam to graduate from listening to actually reading. Dean smiled at the memory of his little brother scanning the books of whatever dinky library was close, sighing whenever he realized he’d already read most of the books. _He was only around eight_ , Dean recalled, _when he graduated from the Kid’s section to the non-fiction._

Dean moved from the Children’s section to the Myth’s and Fairytales section, thinking that if it was a book on fairytales then that section was the logical next place to look.

However, when he got to the section—which was near the back corner of the library and almost as big as the Children’s section—he found that the shelves were already being perused.

A thin, seedy looking man that was several inches shorter than Dean was standing there, two columns down. He wore a grey suit with a maroon silk button-up underneath, kept his straight salt-and-pepper hair longer than Sam’s, and was leaning on a cane. He was reading a book, but when Dean entered the section, he glanced up. Dean shivered. His eyes were plain, but Dean couldn’t help but think there was something reptilian about them.

“Can I help you?” The man asked, sounding pleasant but threatening at the same time. Dean wasn’t sure how he managed to pull that sentence off as a threat so effortlessly, but it would have cowed any lesser man, Dean was sure.

“Just looking for a book,” Dean replied, putting on his best shit-eating grin. He wanted to unnerve the slimy man back, but the older man just smiled back calmly.

“Well it _is_ a library,”

“Who would’ve thought?” Dean chuckled.

“What kind of book are you looking for dearie?” The man came closer, closing the book he’d been holding shut with one hand.

Dean weighed his options. He could put his cards on the table and tell the truth, and perhaps the man would know what book he was talking about and would be able to direct him to it. But then again, maybe this was the person who had cast the curse in the first place, and if Dean told the man he was looking for the story book, the man would realize Dean remembered the real world and would try to stop him.

Dean frowned, but the stranger kept smiling. “What’s your name?” Dean finally asked, hoping to draw out the conversation, get a feel for things more, before answering.

“You may call me Mr. Gold,” Mr. Gold replied agreeably.

“Dean Winchester,” Dean said, finally settling on a decision. “I’m looking for a brown leather book; you got any of those here?” It was vague enough that he could be talking about many different books and most likely wouldn’t set off any alarms. But it was specific enough that there couldn’t be very many like it, so Dean probably would only have to sort through a few dozen instead of a few thousand.

“I am afraid we have no leather books here,” Mr. Gold replied, still smiling. He then narrowed his eyes, and Dean felt a chill wash down his spine. “You best be keeping out of matters that are no business of yours.”

Dean smiled, cocking his head slightly. “Maybe it is my business,” Dean replied.

“What’s going on?” A third voice joined the fold, and Dean turned to see the pretty librarian standing there. Her long brown hair was curled and pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a black-and-white polka dot dress. She was looking at Mr. Gold curiously.

“Nothing at all, my dear, I was simply informing this young man that we don’t have any brown leather books here,” Mr. Gold replied truthfully. Dean snorted.

“Oh, no, we don’t, I’m sorry,” the librarian frowned, looking truly upset that they didn’t have what Dean needed. Dean shrugged, and started walking backwards out of the aisle, intent on keeping his front to Mr. Gold.

He was turning around and walking away when he heard the woman speak again. “How is Neal doing? I worry about him. This will be the first time he’s been away from Mommy _and_ Daddy at the same time.”

“Everything will be fine. I trust that Ms. Boyd will take good care of him.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief that that _babe_ had a kid with the sleazeball that was Mr. Gold. Especially since Dean was eighty-percent sure that it was Mr. Gold who had cast the curse. Now he just needed to take his findings to Emma so they could figure out a plan of action.

Dean was at the door when he heard someone coming after him. Turning around, he saw it was the librarian, holding an old leather-bound book in her hand.

“I was just glancing at the shelves when I saw this!” She exclaimed, thrusting the book towards Dean. “Is this what you were looking for?”

Dean glanced down at the book in his hands, smiling when he read the gold-lettered title. Glancing up at the librarian, he grinned. “This is exactly it.”

The librarian smiled back, and turned towards the front desk. “Well it doesn’t seem to have any library identification on it. Did someone you know just forget it here one day?”

“Yes! I mean, yeah, that’s _exactly_ what happened.” Dean couldn’t believe his luck. One thing was for certain; Emma would be ecstatic when she saw him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie Dokie, I hope y'all are enjoying this!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time and I do not own Supernatural. I am simply a very tired student noncommittally playing with characters I simply have no rights to.

 

**Emma**

Killian’s arm felt warm over her shoulder’s as they walked back into the school. Apparently only two periods had passed since she’d left, and there were still four more to get through, plus a lunch. Emma supposed that she would stick through the rest of class so that she could try and kiss Henry during lunch, but she was not looking forward to it.

“Feeling all right, love?” Killian asked, squeezing Emma’s shoulder. She looked up at him with a smile, but extricated herself from underneath his arm.

“Everything’s fine,” Emma replied with a tense smile.

She was finding that she didn’t know how to deal with _this_ Killian; this Killian that didn’t understand her the way he used to, who didn’t lose his first love, who had never been a pirate, had neverfelt any guilt. Or, at least any guilt that came about from more than just crashing his motorcycle into his garage. Emma knew, realistically, that this wasn’t _her_ Killian, but it was disappointing to see how out-of-touch he was with her all the same.

“Cool, well, see you at lunch,” he replied, pecking her on the top of her head.

It was that kind of response that gnawed at her mind. _Her_ Killian would know instantly there was something wrong, and he would bring it up until she relented and confessed her problems. It was his relentless, no-give attitude that had reminded her of herself in the first place.

Logically, she knew this was just a façade, not the real thing—he was _seventeen_ for christ-sake—but it hurt all the same.

After Killian left, Emma stood stone still in the bustling hallway. She didn’t know where to go, or what she was going to do. Her stomach was churning with worry—how could she be the savior if she didn’t know how to save everyone?

“Do you need any help?” A stiff, but friendly, voice asked from behind Emma.

Emma turned around the face the newcomer, and found herself only inches away from a pair of eyes bluer than Killian’s. The woman had short, curly auburn hair, and looked a bit constipated. She wore a light grey jacket over a darker grey shirt, and was smiling reassuringly.

“Nope,” Emma replied tightly, “Just headed to class.”

“I know,” the woman replied. “I’m your substitute for trigonometry today. Pleased to meet you, Emma Swan.”

Emma shook the woman’s hand warily. “You know my name already?”

“Yes, I make it a point to remember all of my students names,” The woman smiled. “I am Ms. Smith.”

Emma followed Ms. Smith to the trigonometry class room, and spotted Mary-Margaret and David almost immediately. It was hard _not_ to noticed them, since they were the only ones seated in the front. Of the four rows of desks, the two back rows were filled, the third was empty, and the front seated Emma’s teenage parents.

Emma bowed her head and hustled across the room, decided to sit in the empty row directly behind the two. Simultaneously, they turned around, mirroring each other’s looks of disappointment. Emma wondered if they shared the same heart in this reality.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve been acting odd all day,” Mary-Margaret huffed. “We _barely_ convinced Elsa that the best option was _not_ to call Ingrid when you skipped first and second periods.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma replied, glancing at her hands.

“Never mind,” Mary-Margaret sighed. She sounded exasperated with Emma. But then she put a bright, false smile on her face, and grabbed Emma’s bag, which Emma must have dropped sometime when she was fleeing the hallways.

“Thanks,” Emma smiled gratefully. _Thank god she grabbed this; if I miss another trig assignment Ingrid will have my head!_ Emma thought with relief, but then stiffened. Where, exactly, had that thought come from?

“All right class, I will be your substitute teacher for today,” Ms. Smith intoned from the front of the classroom, right as the electronic bell chimed. “Your instructor has given me very clear instructions to have you pass your latest assignment forward for grading; now, and not at the end of class. Pass them to your left, and I will collect them from the end of each row.”

Emma felt sick to her stomach. Slowly, she opened up the olive-green book bag and stared at the contents. No wonder it had felt so heavy; there was a trigonometry book, an English book, and a history book all crammed into the tiny space, along with a giant binder filled to the brim with papers, and various bits of paper floating around. Emma pulled out the huge binder, opened it, and found a page titled Trig Assignment #4 in neat handwriting. Emma’s handwriting.

How had she known about the assignment? Where had the thought come from? Were there other things that she was going to remember without knowing how she remembered? Her head was spinning with questions as she handed her assignment to Mary-Margaret. Questions she had no answers to, and doubted she would have answers to if things proceeded as they had been, with no progress on the curse-resolving front.

“All right, now would everyone please take out a piece of paper, it’s time for your daily quiz.” Emma groaned. She’d gotten her G.E.D. while doing time, but all of that knowledge had pretty much drained from her mind at that point. “Good luck,” Ms. Smith said, and started passing out the test. _Well, here goes nothing,_ Emma thought.

 

Emma had miraculously made it to lunch. Mary-Margaret had finally forgiven Emma for whatever class-cutting blunder she’d committed, and they parted ways so that Emma could get a school lunch while Mary-Margaret and David would claim their seats.

Even grade levels shared a lunch, and odd grade levels shared a lunch. Apparently, even though the school housed middle and high school kids, there were still less than five hundred students, total, making the cafeteria crowded with more than two hundred students in attendance. Emma was hoping Henry was a sophomore as well, so that she would share lunch with him, and would have the opportunity to kiss him.

Getting in the lunch line was an ordeal. It seemed about half of the students had brought a lunch from home, but there were only two lunch lines, so Emma had almost fifty people ahead of her. She was just deciding to skip lunch for the sake of her sanity when she recognized the mop of chocolate brown hair standing right in front of her.

“Henry!” Emma exclaimed, and Henry whirled around. He looked at Emma with wariness and a hint of confusion. Emma’s heart plummeted at the expression, but she steeled herself. Henry _knew_ who she was. He had always had faith in her when _no one_ else had. She had to do this for him. It was her responsibility.

“Henry, I know this will seem weird, but please. Just trust me.” Emma stepped forward, placing both hands on Henry’s shoulders. He was slightly taller than her, as Emma always knew he would be, so she had to stand on her toes to reach his forehead.

“Whoa, um, whatareyoudoing?” Henry asked nervously, stepping backwards in shock just as Emma’s lips landed on his forehead.

She kissed him

And she waited

For the rush of magic that should be swelling through her veins, through her lips, through her heart. She waited for the pulse of rainbow-white magic that signified a spell had been broken by True Love’s Kiss.

But it didn’t come.

“I’m—I’m sorry” Emma exclaimed, and high-tailed it away from him. _He doesn’t remember me_ , Emma thought, realizing her blunder. The same thing had happened with her parents when Snow had taken the memory potion. But it didn’t matter, in the long run.

She had failed her son.

She had failed everyone.

 

**Dean**

With the story book in his grasp, Dean settled down onto the park bench in front of the library and did the one thing he never thought he would have to do when Sammy was around; he started to read.

Dean wasn’t a particularly fast reader, but the stories held within the storybook were familiar ones, and they flowed together so seamlessly that he’d finished three-quarters of the book within an hour and a half. He could certainly see the resemblance the librarian had toBelle, and Mr. Gold was a ringer for Rumplestiltskin aka the Beast—if he had invested in some hard core acne wash. But he was having trouble believing that the stories contained within the book were the gospel truth.

Of course, nothing was true to Dean unless he’d seen it with his own eyes. Sam had always been the one with so much friggin _faith_. Faith in god, faith in people and angels and _Dean_. Dean wondered why _Sam_ hadn’t been the one chosen to help this Emma chick break whatever curse, but retracted the thought immediately. Sam was better off believing whatever suburban daddy story was rooted inside his head. Especially if things ended up going south.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered, springing to his feet. He gripped the book in both his hands, as if he was going to rip it in half, or throw it on the ground. But he couldn’t do that. Assuming Emma’s kiss failed—which he was—this book was their best shot at breaking the damned curse. And if _that_ didn’t work then…well if that didn’t work, then Dean supposed he would need to figure something else out _fast_. Today was day one, but twenty-nine more days would go by quicker than anyone realized.

Exhaling, Dean shook his head and turned away from the library. He’d need to hurry to the school if he wanted to make it by lunchtime. He started to walk with the book in his hands, but then stopped, remembering the light backpack that was practically glued to his back. Slipping the book inside, he shouldered it back onto his back and trudged the rest of the way to the school.

Dean made it to school just as the lunch bell rang and students started filtering into the hallways. As he followed the meandering students to the cafeteria, he started noticing things. Like the teacher standing to the left of him that looked precisely like the Blue Fairy Dean had seen in the book, and two students clinging to each other that Dean would swear looked _exactly_ like Hansel and Gretel. The appearances of the real-life characters only served to enervate Dean.

Just as Dean turned the corner into the hallway that lead to what he presumed was the cafeteria, Dean saw Emma’s blonde head disappear through the doors. Grinning, he cupped his hands around his mouth, about to call out to her, when he was accosted by a different blonde.

“You,” the girl intoned, narrowing her light green eyes. “I heard you were hanging out with Emma at the library—while you both should have been in class.”

Dean smirked, giving the girl a once-over. _This_ must be his girlfriend. And the jealous type too. “Hey good-looking, no need to be jealous.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she looked affronted. “ _Excuse_ you, I am _not_ jealous. I just want to inform you that if I see you hanging around my sister again, I will have no problem telling Mr. Winchester that you’ve been cutting class.”

“Listen doll,” Dean replied, stiffening slightly when he realized that this wasn’t his girlfriend. “I’m not afraid of ‘ _Mr. Winchester_ ’ or whatever he’ll do when he finds out. And I am certainly not afraid of _you_ ,” he continued, taking a step closer to look down at the girl.

She simply narrowed her eyes, and mirrored his step forward in a surprising show of courage. “Stay away from my sister, if you don’t want a repeat of what happened the _last_ time you hung out with her.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but the girl flounced away before he could say anything.

Disgruntled by not discouraged, Dean turned away from where the girl had run off to. Striding forward, he pushed through the double-doors and entered the noisy cafeteria. He quickly scanned the horde of students and found Emma standing in line behind the kid she’d accosted at the start of the day. _That’s Henry_ , Dean thought, and Emma must have realized it at the same time.

Henry turned around and looked down at Emma, who placed her hands on each of his shoulders. She said something to him, and he started to reply, started to step away, but Emma pressed her lips to his forehead before he had the chance. Dean watched for one, two, three seconds as Emma rested her lips to his forehead. When nothing happened, Dean’s shoulders slumped; _well, that plan didn’t work_.

Emma looked calm and collected as she turned away from her son and started striding away, but Dean was surprised to realize he could read her expression almost as well as he could read Sam’s. She was _certainly_ not calm, nor war she collected. Underneath her mask, there was a storm of doubt and self-loathing brewing.

“Shit,” Dean muttered, and he started hurrying towards her. _Now is my chance to finally get back on her good side,_ Dean thought absentmindedly. A flash of a younger-looking Emma, storming away from him with tears streaking down her face drifted through his mind’s eye, and he almost dismissed it.

But then he stopped, and really thought about that. And when he realized what the image and the train of thought meant, he felt the ball of dread coil tighter in his stomach.

He was starting to ‘remember’ whatever fake like had been implanted into everyone else’s minds.

And suddenly, the stakes were raised in this race against time.


	7. Chapter 7

 

**Emma**

Emma was aimlessly walking around the school parking lot when Elsa found her, a dour Killian Jones in tow. She glanced morosely between the two, but figured it made sense. They were both seniors, and friends in the real world, it was only realistic that they would be friends in this alternate reality.

Killian cleared his throat, and smiled at Emma, tilting his head in that sexy way of his that usually made Emma feel flustered. Right now, she wasn’t feeling flustered. She only felt disappointed in herself, and wasn’t in the mood to be smiled at like that.

“So,” Elsa spoke, drawing Emma’s attention to the stern-looking girl. She had her hands on her hips, her jaw was set, and her stance was determined, but there was a softened look in her eyes. “Want to tell me why you _only_ went to third period today?”

“You’re keeping tabs on me?” Emma asked, feeling annoyed for a reason she couldn’t place.

“I’ve _had_ to Emma!” Elsa exclaimed, suddenly beseeching. She held her hands out, pleading with her eyes for Emma to take them. “You’ve been acting out ever since…never mind. We’ll talk about it at home. _With_ Ingrid. We have to get Killian to work first.”

Emma sighed, glancing at the front of the school one last time. She’d been waiting for Dean to show up, to talk after school like they had said they would. But he never showed. She couldn’t understand him; one moment he seemed thrilled to help, the next he was as cold as the Snow Queen’s fortress. If it was a constant character trait of his, Emma wasn’t sure if she _wanted_ to work with him, whether or not he would be of any help.

Turning back to the car, a dented beater that looked about to collapse, Emma opened the creaky door and slid into the back seat.

The ride to Killian’s workplace was silent, and Emma wasn’t willing to speak up and break the quiet. No one in the car was keen on breaking the quiet. When they reached the indie bookstore Killian worked at, he exited the car with only a quick glance in Emma’s direction. Elsa drove off without giving Emma time to hop into the front seat—not that Emma cared.

Emma stewed in her anger the rest of the way to her house. When they finally made it home, she tore out of the car and was halfway up the stairs to her room before Ingrid called to her.

“Emma, we need to talk!” Ingrid was speaking from the foot of the stairs. Emma turned, debating on whether or not she would let Elsa and Ingrid talk to her.

“What the hell,” Emma muttered, and stomped back down the stairs, dropping her book bag carelessly at the bottom. Ingrid was looking at Emma with an expression of disappointment and affection, though the disappointment was winning. Her arms were crossed until Emma made it to the last step. Ingrid let her arms drop and turned swiftly around, beckoning Emma towards the small sitting area across from the kitchen.

Emma admired the small space; she’d always liked rooms with a lot of windows and light and comfortable furniture and food. The sitting area had it all.

It was a booth table with creamy cushions that looked nearly overstuffed. The table had an assortment of finger-foods on it, all were favorite’s of Emma’s; bagel bites topped with cream cheese, finger-sized cookies, tiny bowls of melting rocky road ice cream, a big bowl of pita chips with dipping sauces surrounding it like an army of well prepared toppings.

The windows that surrounded the booth, allowing in the light of the afternoon sun, were hung with gauzy periwinkle curtains, cleaned so thoroughly they almost looked see-through. This was Emma’s idea of the most comfortable sitting area possible.

She slid into the booth seat across from Ingrid, and Elsa slid in right next to her. Emma glanced at her ‘sister’ and was given a smug smile in return.

“All right,” Emma muttered after a few moments of silence with the two of them just _staring_ at her. “Lay it on me.”

The two glanced at each other, as if mentally deciding which one would speak first. The house was silent except for the slight mechanical whirring of the refrigerator. Emma helped herself to a bagel bite.

“Emma,” Ingrid finally started, using her calm voice again. “I was speaking with the school guidance counselor a few days ago, and she mentioned something…worrisome. You’ve been skipping your history class daily?” She made the statement sound like a question, though Emma realized it was rhetorical. She didn’t know whether or not she would be able to answer any real questions about the goings-on of her alternate life.

“ _And_ your grades have dropped, _and_ you’re withdrawing completely from everyone. Emma, we’re worried about you!” Elsa slid her hand into Emma’s under the table, squeezed it gently.

“We think it’s time you start seeing a therapist,” Ingrid continued, drawing Emma’s eyes from the bounty of food before her to her face. “It’s been nearly a year and a half since the accident—” Emma felt Elsa flinch, and hold tighter to Emma’s hand “—and you aren’t showing any signs of getting better.”

“Mom and dad would not have wanted you to waste your life away in their memory,” Elsa added, the softly spoken statement made more powerful by the silence that followed.

Emma slumped into the booth. Whatever kind of person she was in this alternate reality, Emma was disappointed. She was disappointed by the way she had apparently handled the death of her parents, especially when she had such a seemingly solid support system in her sisters.

But then she stopped herself short in that line of thought.

Glancing up with her eyes narrowed, Emma spat out at Ingrid, “It’s _your_ fault my son doesn’t remember me. You just want me to fall into line with this sick little fantasy world you’ve created. Well guess what? I’m not biting. So you can—” Emma stopped, took a deep breath, and weighed the scenario logically.

There was a possibility that the Snow Queen wasn’t to blame for this mess—a possibility that she was just as much a victim of this reality that Emma was. Sure, she was benefiting from this curse, but that didn’t mean she cast it. For all Emma knew, _everyone_ was benefiting from this curse, except for Emma and Dean.

“I’m…sorry,” Emma choked out, embarrassed by her immediate reaction. God damn it, she wasn’t _actually_ a teenager, so why was she having the mood swings of one? Did it have something to do with the homework thought she’d had earlier?

“Emma,” Ingrid sounded both disappointed and relieved, relieved that Emma had come to her sense in time before she’d threatened Ingrid again perhaps. “Seeing a therapist isn’t a bad thing. Elsa and I will even go with you! You’ll realize it is the right decision after you’ve had a few sessions with Ms. Smith.”

“Ms. Smith?” Emma asked, recalling the stiff woman who’d been the math substitute teacher. “What about Dr. Hopper?”

Ingrid looked at Emma questioningly. “You mean Archie, the school guidance counselor? He’s just a guidance counselor, the one that recommended Ms. Smith actually. I’m sure you’ll like her Emma, she’s a wonderful, straight-forward woman, much like yourself.”

“Yeah,” Emma replied, not really paying attention any more. “I’m sure.”

Emma’s thoughts were concerned with the oddity that was a therapist freelancing as a school substitute. Apparently she _would_ be going to the therapy sessions; she had to get to the bottom of this.

 

**Dean**

“Ready to go?” Sam asked, his tone implying Dean was acting oddly.

Dean had to admit, his actions would have seemed odd to anyone who wasn’t involved in the situation Dean had found himself knee deep in. He’d been crouched behind a rhododendron bush for the past half hour, watching Emma walk in circles around the school’s parking lot. But it wasn’t anything creepy; he was just trying to see if any other bursts of ‘memory’ would come to him if he stared long enough. None did.

“All set,” Dean replied, standing up with ease—he sure missed _that_ part of being a teenager—and turning towards his younger brother. Emma had just left with the chick that had accosted him before lunch and her boyfriend, and Dean didn’t need to worry about being spotted by her. “Hey, thanks for coming on such short notice. I, uh, forgot my phone at home I guess?” Dean rolled his eyes at his own excuse, hoping Sam didn’t question what kind of teenager left their phone at home these days.

Sam looked at Dean with a frown. “You left your nonexistent phone at home?” Sam probed.

Dean groaned. “Aw, come on Sammy! You won’t let your only son have a friggin’ phone?”

Sam stared at Dean, his expression fluctuating between confusion, annoyance, and—strangely enough—embarrassment. Dean waited for a response, but in the end Sam just shook his head and told Dean to get in the car.

“So, why the last minute change of plans? What happened to the library?” Sam asked after a few minutes of driving in silence.

Dean shrugged and fiddled with the radio before responding. “My…study-buddy,” Dean smirked at the term, “had to go home right after class. We’ll catch up tomorrow.”

“Ruby? How’s she doing?” Sam responded, switching the station from classic rock to pop.

“No, uh, Emma…Swan.”

“ _Emma_?” Sam sounded appalled. “She’s speaking to you again? Are you okay? I mean, well, how did it go?”

Dean chuckled, turning to Sam as they pulled into the driveway of their house. Dean admired it for a moment; the well-manicured lawn, the neighborhood, even the sight of Castiel cooking in the kitchen through the window. He would have a _lot_ of materiel to heckle Sam about when everything went back to normal.

“Whoa, pops, listen. We’re speaking again, I guess, and that’s that. No need for any talk of that feelings crap or whatever. I’m fine, we’re fine, she’s fine. Capisce?” Dean didn’t wait for a response. He left Sam in the car—the _Prius! The freaking Prius_ —to chew on his last words.

Dean hurried into the house and went straight for the kitchen where Castiel was humming happily as he cooked. Dean frowned at the sight of his normally trench-coated angel all dolled up in regular people clothes. Not regular clothes like he’d been wearing at the library, but an actual grey shirt with some picture of food on it and a pair of loose, weathered jeans. Dean was momentarily taken aback by the sight of casual Cas, but he quickly regained his composure.

“Cas!” Dean called, striding towards the shorter angel. “Listen man, I just wanted to say thanks a lot for bringing that message to me at the library,” Dean probed underhandedly, hoping that this Cas would remember something about anything.

But this Cas only looked at Dean in confusion, and stirred a pot full of steaming brown vegetables. “What message? I’ve been at work all day, kiddo.” Dean cringed when he heard the voice of Jimmy Novak—higher in pitch and more care-free than Cas’s low growl.

“Right, sorry, thanks,” Dean ducked his head, shouldered his backpack and started hurrying out of the kitchen. This was just too weird. What kind of curse had the power to control an angel like this—even one that was running out of angel juice?

“Oh, and Dean?” Dean glanced quickly up, looking at Cas hopefully. “You know, it _is_ all right if you call me Dad. I thought we were making some progress…”

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” Dean called over his shoulder, grimacing at the strangeness of the request. This whole situation was becoming stranger and stranger the further Dean got into it.

He made his way down the hallway and started opening up doors until he found his room once again. Turning on the bedside light, Dean took a seat on his bed and opened up his backpack. He had some reading to finish.

 

**The Library**

“Mr, Gold, a pleasure to meet you of course,” the balding man bowed his head to the man standing opposite him.

“Metatron, isn’t it?” Mr. Gold smiled, showing his teeth.

“Yes, you do have a way with names, don’t you?” Metatron chuckled lightly, folding his hands behind his back. “I do hope this new reality is to your liking?”

“If it wasn’t, dearie, you would be the first to know.” Mr. Gold folded his hands atop the gold handle of his walking stick.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Metatron replied, smirking. “What is the business you have called me here for? What…deal do you have to strike with me? I know you’re in the business of deals.”

“Been doing your reading, I see,” Mr. Gold smiled slyly.

“I _am_ an avid reader. Now please, get to your point. You’ve taken me from an important quest, one I must get immediately back to if you are to _keep_ this reality of yours.”

“Is that a threat?” Mr. Gold’s smile widened as he considered the seemingly insignificant man before him.

“More like a fact,” Metatron corrected. “When I threaten you, you’ll know.”

Mr. Gold’s smile brightened even more. “Oh, surely, dearie. And when I want to deal with you, _you_ will know. But I am not in the mood for deals today. I only wanted to…assess the maker of this curse. Please, do check out a book on your way out. Business has been slow lately.”

Metatron looked at Mr. Gold calculatingly. He nodded slowly at the greasy-looking man, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Mr. Gold calmly walked over to where Metatron had been standing and kneeled to the ground. Searching casually with his narrow fingers, he grazed his fingertips over the carpet until he came up with what he was looking for—one curly hair; grey at the tip, mousy brown near the end. Tucking the hair into his breast pocket, Mr. Gold started to grin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** The author who writes this fanfiction owns neither Once Upon a Time nor Supernatural, no matter how many stars she wishes upon. She would also like to add that she owns neither PlayStation nor Guitar Hero.

 

**Emma**

Emma woke up the next morning groggy and feeling as if she hadn’t slept a wink. It was a strange experience, going to sleep in a room that was but also wasn’t hers. Never mind the fact that it _felt_ like it should have been her room, and was technically her room—the conditions leaving her to fall asleep in that bed didn’t engender a good night’s rest.

She could hear water running through the door that led to the Jack and Jill bathroom she and Elsa shared. If she closed her eyes, Emma could pretend that it was Mary-Margaret or David, or Henry showering in that bathroom. If she ignored that the muggy light was streaming from three separate windows instead of one; if she tried not to smell the woodsy scent of forest that permeated the room; if she ignored the small but cozy bed she was bundled on…

Emma sighed.

If she ignored everything, nothing would change. Everything would stay stagnant in this alternate reality, with teenaged adults, and teenaged children, and who knew what other strange differences.

So, Emma did the responsible adult thing to do, and rolled out of bed with a thump.

“Emma? Are you all right in there?” Emma heard Ingrid’s muffled voice through the door to the hallway. A second later, Ingrid was poking her head into the room. “What are you doing on the floor?”

_Don’t give her another reason to doubt your sanity; you’re already on probation._

Emma almost slapped herself when that thought popped into her mind—it was another one of the misplaced thoughts. Emma knew she didn’t care whether or not Ingrid was acting as a guardian; Emma was a grown woman, despite the teenage body she currently inhabited. She could care less whether or not Ingrid was putting her on probation.

Still, despite these facts, there was a nerve-wracking ball of trepidation gnawing away at her stomach, telling her that she was better off listening to Ingrid, acting in accordance to what the Snow Queen would view as normal in this world.

“Fine,” Emma smiled blandly. “I’m about to get dressed, have any idea when Elsa will be out?”

“I’ll tell her to hurry up,” Ingrid replied. “Good morning Emma, I am glad you’re in a better mood,” Ingrid added, smiling back at Emma before turning and closing the door behind her.

Nearly fifty minutes later, Emma was dressed in a loose purple sweater, jeans, a thick leather watch she’d found on her dresser, and plain black sneakers. She tied her hair into a high ponytail, grabbed her book bag from where she’d tossed it the night before and trudged down the stairs, ready in a most unwilling way to start her day.

The kitchen was dimly lit with the muted morning light that managed to eke itself through the clouds and trees. As soon as Emma stepped through the entryway, Ingrid—who, Emma noticed abruptly, was standing quietly only a couple feet away from her—flicked on the lights, filling the room with yellow-white brightness.

Emma spotted a coffee-maker on the counter above the dishwasher, and hesitantly edged towards it. She didn’t know how sketchy it would look for her to start rummaging around for mugs, but she was willing to take that chance for a cup of coffee.

“Emma,” Ingrid spoke softly, drawing Emma’s attention. She glanced at the older woman, saw the proffered mug of coffee and omelet, and warily accepted the offerings.

Emma took a seat at one of the barstools that lined the island in the middle of the kitchen, set her omelet down and sipped the coffee—which tasted perfect, with minimal sugar and milk. Her first bite of omelet elicited a moan—the eggs were perfectly seasoned, sprinkled with gooey mozzarella cheese, and filled with green and red bell peppers, and green and red onions.

“Glad you like it,” Ingrid intoned, smiling into her own blue mug. Emma nodded, scooping another bite of eggs into her mouth. She was a sucker for good food, even if it was made by her enemy. Emma doubted the food was poisoned, and even if it were, it would almost be worth it for the taste.

“Where’s Elsa?” Emma asked around a mouthful of eggs, which she quickly washed down with a swallow of coffee.

Ingrid smiled softly, cupping her mug between her two hands. “She left a couple of minutes ago. She and Anna are looking for dresses for the Winter Formal. You could go this year, you know.”

“Not my thing,” Emma shook her head. She’d never attended a formal dance, never really had the opportunity or desire. Popping in and out of foster homes, in and out of school districts, and her time spent as a runaway, never really left time for getting a dress, finding some friends to go with, or money to purchase a ticket.

“Well that’s all right, we can just stay in and have a movie night?” Ingrid asked hopefully.

“Not my thing,” Emma repeated, glancing around the kitchen awkwardly. She _really_ wasn’t sure how to deal with this sisterly Snow Queen. Sure, she had been dealing just fine with the _real_ Snow Queen who’d wanted to force sisterhood upon Emma and Elsa, but this one that was… _kind_ , Emma was flustered, caught between wanting to be nice in return and wanting to lash out for all the things the Snow Queen had been trying to accomplish in Storybrooke.

_Lashing out won’t help anything if she doesn’t understand what I’m doing it for_ , Emma reasoned. Emma was staring to doubt her original theory that the Snow Queen had, in fact, created this curse. She was either a stupendous actor, used a memory potion, or really didn’t curse the town. No matter the answer, Emma doubted she’d be able to crack the Snow Queen’s calm façade simply by force of will.

“I mean,” Emma drew in a breath. “I guess a movie night will be better than staying in alone.”

“Oh Emma,” Ingrid sighed, smiling brightly. “You’ll never be alone when Elsa and I are around.”

 

A few hours later, Elsa returned with an anxious-looking Killian in tow.

“I found him pacing a few hundred feet down the road,” Elsa explained, directing a glare towards Killian. Emma frowned; she thought Elsa and Killian were friends in this reality. Had she been completely wrong? “I’ll, um, let you two talk. I’ll show you my dress later, Emma,” Elsa gestured to the pink and blue striped back in her hand, smiling briefly before hurrying out of the kitchen.

Emma smiled at Killian, who smiled back nervously, and glanced at Ingrid. Emma and Ingrid had been sitting in the living room before Elsa and Killian had shown up. Emma was writing in a blue notebook, scribbling down theories of who’d cast the curse, how it could be broken, and the likes, while Ingrid read a book.

“Oh,” Ingrid smiled tightly. Lifting her book, which had a bright green apple on the cover, she tilted her head. “I’ll just be in the kitchen.”

Emma smiled; the illusion of privacy without the _actual_ privacy part. Up until she’d arrived in Storybrooke, Emma had never really gotten any experience of parenting tactics first-hand, but she had to give Ingrid credit for this one.

“What’s up?” Emma asked as Killian sat down on the white suede couch next to her. She shielded the notebook from him, pressing it to her chest protectively. She had her feet up on the couch, using her knees as a writing surface. Killian sat a foot away from her, stiff and smiling sadly.

“Love, we need to talk,” He muttered, so low Emma almost didn’t catch the words.

Emma grimaced, wondering if they could be about to have _the talk_. It would be awkward with both of them as adults—Emma _really_ didn’t want to experience it with their teenage hormones running rampant.

“Listen Killian, now really isn’t—”

“Please Emma, just listen.” Killian interrupted her, glancing down at his hands. Emma glanced down too, noticing how few rings he was wearing, and how soft his hands looked. She reached out to grab one of his hands, but he folded them tightly in his lap.

“I’m listening,” Emma said warily, pulling her legs closer to her chest.

He took in a deep breath, said “I think we need to break up,” and paused, as if waiting for Emma to start crying. When she didn’t blink, he continued. “We’ve had some fun together, and I do—”

“No.” Emma frowned. Killian continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

“—But I think we need to start seeing other people. I’m sorry, I truly am, but I have…and if I don’t say this now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to, but I have feelings for your sister.”

“Ingrid?” Emma asked incredulously.

Killian laughed, though the sound was hollow. “No, love. Elsa. I was speaking with Ms. Smith—”

“The substitute teacher?” Emma demanded, balancing between incredulity and stiffness. _The substitute teacher_ , Emma thought. _I should have known. She_ has _to be behind this curse. There’s something going on with her. First she’s a substitute, next she’s a therapist, and now she’s convincing Killian to break up with me? Something’s off_.

Emma felt her resolve harden. Ms. Smith was just too _convenient._ Ingrid had scheduled a therapy session for Emma on Tuesday, but Emma didn’t think it could wait until then. She had to have answers _now_.

“Emma? Emma, are you all right?” Killian waved his hand in front of Emma’s face, causing her to blink rapidly. She glanced at Killian, at his young, teenaged face, and decided that yeah, she was all right.

She knew it _should_ hurt her, but it didn’t. This wasn’t _real_ , not really. It was just another curse, another false life, another set of memories to push to the back of her mind once everything was righted. Killian may have these feelings in the here and now—heck, Elsa probably had the same ones!—but it wasn’t the same. So Emma straightened her spine and nodded, smiling at Killian warmly, even though her smile was a bit stiff.

“Yeah, no worries, I understand.” Emma nodded again, and then shook her head. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“Are—are you sure?” Killian looked like he wanted to smile at the same time he looked anxious. “Does—does this have anything to do with you hanging out with Dean again?”

“Nope,” Emma replied, wanting to ask what he meant about her and Dean hanging out ‘again,’ but then again, not really wanting to ask. “I guess I’ll see you at school.”

“Emma, wait.” Killian tried grabbing Emma’s hand, but she pulled away, her smile gone.

“No. I’m fine. See you at school,” She turned and hurried out the door, ignoring Killian’s calls for her to wait, to let him explain.

She didn’t know where she was going to go, but her house wasn’t an option. She glanced at her watch, and thought faintly, _it isn’t even noon and my life has changed_.

Right then, she didn’t care that her life had _already_ changed, that the thought was blatantly one of the ones that wasn’t her own. Emma simply rolled with it and strode down the sidewalk, hoping to magically run into Ms. Smith. She owed that woman a punch to the face.

 

**Dean**

Dean woke up before the sun was up, and hurried to the bathroom to see if anything had magically changed—but no, he was young as ever, and still a teenager. Grabbing his backpack, he shoved the story book—killer ending; who knew _Emma_ was the princess?—in, got dressed, and headed out into the living room.

Sam and Cas were both already up, sitting thigh to thigh on the couch. Sam was reading the news, while Cas was watching some crime show, a cup of coffee in his hand. Dean blinked, startled when he saw that Cas was wearing friggin’ _pajama’s_. Blue and grey flannel bottoms with a stained white shirt, he looked so un-Cas-like that Dean had to blink before fully seeing the image before him.

“You’re up early,” Sam noted, not putting the paper down. “Did you sleep well?”

“Slept fine, thanks,” Dean replied gruffly, hitching his backpack further up on his shoulder. “I was just going to head out—”

“Too early,” Cas interrupted, taking his eyes off the screen. Dean grimaced when he heard the higher-pitched voice again—sitting through a dinner of vegetables drenched in vegetable sauce was hard enough without watching Cas speak in an voice that wasn’t his. Dean didn’t want to spend his entire Saturday listening to him.

“Cas is right, go have some breakfast and then we’ll talk about where you want to go,” Sam added, turning the page of his newspaper.

Dean stood there for a moment, his older brother annoyance rearing its head at the idea of listening to Sam. But he swallowed it down for his own sake, dropped his backpack on the loveseat and dragged his feet into the kitchen.

Three bowls of cereal and half a pot of coffee later, Dean was ready to leave.

“Dean, sit down,” Sam spoke, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “We’ve hardly gotten to spend any time together since school started. Why don’t we…I don’t know, go to the movies, or go to the gym and shoot some hoops? Hell, we could even play some video games on that—that PlayStation or whatever it was Grandpa bought you for Christmas.”

“I’ve never beaten you at Guitar Hero, but I could give it another shot,” Cas added, smiling slyly up at Dean, but Dean’s attention wasn’t on the angel-turned human.

Dean stared at his brother. For so long, he’d been worried that Sam didn’t need him, had never needed him. Hell, Sam _hadn’t_ needed him when he’d been in hell, had gotten on just fine when Dean was in purgatory—he’d even started a family of his own. This was like a second chance for Dean, admittedly in a different position in their relationship. Could Dean really pass that up to go help some chick he’d just met? Maybe he could ride this out until Emma figured out how to break the curse herself…

But Dean sighed, stood back up and grabbed his backpack. “Rain check?” Dean offered.

Sam’s face shuttered down, causing Dean to flinch. “No, yeah, that’s fine. Be back by seven.”

Dean nodded, straightened his shoulders and strode out of the living room. Sometimes, he hated having the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Dean was halfway down the walkway when he felt a sharp pain behind his left ear. Wincing, he pressed a hand to the side of his head, started to massage the feeling away, but it only got worse. The pain was pointed and exact; like a thin knife digging into a specific point in his brain. Dean groaned as the pain intensified, and fell to his knees. The impact of his knees against the concrete was nothing compared to the blistering feeling of a knife being twisted in his head.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam shouted behind Dean. Dean heard footsteps, and tried to turn to see his brother, but the more he moved, the worse the pain was. Closing his eyes tightly, Dean saw an image start to form in his mind’s eye. Suddenly, he was thrust into a memory.

 

_Dean was sitting on a bench in a park, holding the hand of a sniveling girl—Emma. She looked younger than she did now, was probably only fourteen, though she looked even younger because of how torn up she was. Her cheeks were spotted with redness, her eyes puffy and red, tears leaking from them like a faucet. There was snot dripping from her nose, but Dean didn’t mention it. Instead, he switched his hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. He took up rubbing her shoulder as she started to mumble._

_“The car j-just c-came out of_ nowhere _, it wasn’t there and th-then it was!” She exclaimed, shuddering against Dean. Dean felt helpless—both in the memory and as a spectator to it. He never liked watching girls cry._

_“Shh, it’s okay,” Dean said. “It’s okay—”_

_“It’s_ not _okay!” She shouted, her body stiffening. “It was my fault! All my fault they died! If I had refused, had told them that I-I wasn’t ready to drive, wasn’t comfortable then they would still be_ alive _!”_

_“You can’t blame yourself,” Dean muttered. Emma tucked her head into his chest and started bawling with earnest. Her hair was up against his nose—she smelled like vanilla and apple pies. Dean pulled her in tighter, wanting to squeeze the guilt and sadness out of her._

_“I can, it’s my f-_ fault _, and—”_

_“And they shouldn’t have even let you drive!” Dean exclaimed, not wanting to interrupt her, but also not wanting to listen to her blame herself for her parent’s death. “You’re fourteen for God’s sake! You don’t even have a permit!”_

_But Emma wasn’t hearing any of it. Pulling herself angrily out of his arms, Emma almost fell off the bench in an effort to get away from Dean, and started backing away. “Never mind, I don’t even know why I came to you. We’re not friends anymore, just—just leave me alone.”_

_“Emma! Wait!” Dean called, standing._

_“Don’t follow me,” Emma replied. She turned around and started running away from Dean, didn’t watch where she was going, was only looking to get away. Dean sighed, pressed his hands to his face and started to turn away—when he heard a scream, and a crash, and—_

“Dean, honey, wake up,” Dean could feel hands on his face, pressed against his cheeks, and a hard pillow underneath his head. Groaning, he pressed a hand to his face, rubbing the aftermath of the killer headache away. Hid brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and the fake memory was ringing through his conscious.

“Dean,” both Sam and Cas sighed. One hand pulled away from his face, the other slid up to his forehead. Dean blinked, squinting against the painfully bright clouds, and waited as Sam’s face resolved above him. Dean blinked, wondering why he was looking up at Sam, when he realized—

“Aw, man, come on!” Dean exclaimed, sitting up so quickly that the blood rushed to his head. He was lying on Sam’s friggin’ lap like sleeping beauty or something!

“Whoa, slow down there sport,” Cas was right next to him, steadying Dean with a hand on his shoulder. When Dean was steady, Cas’s cool hand started probing around his head. “You took a pretty hard fall; let me make sure there aren’t any bumps.”

“We should take him to the hospital,” Sam intoned, sounding extremely worried.

“No!” Dean practically shouted, pushing up to his feet. He almost fell over again, but Sam stood up and placed a hand on Dean’s back, steadying him. “No doctors, Sa—uh, _Dad_.” Dean corrected himself, quickly clearing his throat. Sam didn’t seem to notice; he was focused more on Dean’s wellbeing.

“He probably doesn’t need it,” Cas stated. Just then, he ran his fingers over Dean’s forehead. Dean winced at the spear of pain that lanced through his skull. “But then again, I’m no doctor.”

“I’m _fine_ , Cas,” Dean pushed Cas’s hands away, took a step away from the pair, feeling firmer on his feet. He looked slowly up at Sam, then back down at Cas.

“Really, I feel great. _Really_ ,” he added for emphasis. “I’ll be fine, trust me. I’ve got to go meet…” But he trailed off, unsure. After that ‘memory,’ what the hell was he supposed to say to Emma? Was he supposed to tell her at all, or was this one of the things you were supposed to keep to yourself? Dean frowned, conflicted. In the end, solution was decided for him.

“No, you’re staying home today. You can call whoever you were going to meet and have them come over here, but you’re not going _anywhere_ today, I’m putting my foot down.” Sam crossed his arms, and turned on his heel towards the door. Cas hesitated, waiting until Dean started to follow Sam with slumped shoulders before he went back inside.

“I don’t have Emma’s number,” Dean replied, but obediently followed behind Sam.

“That’s fine, I’ll call Ingrid and have her drive Emma over, you just go sit down. Cas, go ahead and start the game box,” Sam sounded like a father so much, Dean could only stare at him before following his orders. It turned out he’d have some parental bonding after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Emma**

“Are you sure you want to go over there?” Ingrid asked for the hundredth time. Emma nodded, still unsure as to why she wouldn’t want to be near Dean.

Emma hadn’t gotten very far from her house before Ingrid came driving up behind her. She’d only made it about a mile away, having been walking at a clip for about twenty minutes. She’d been in a part of the neighborhood she hadn’t recognized—of course, she couldn’t recognize _any_ part of the neighborhood, but she’d ventured that she was close to David’s house. It would have probably seemed strange, given that David wasn’t her dad in this reality; he was just a school friend. But Emma didn’t care. She’d just wanted someone to talk to.

Ingrid had pulled up to Emma in a gold Chrysler Town and Country, looking very strange behind the wheel of the van. She had asked if Emma wanted to talk about what had happened with Killian, and when Emma said she didn’t want to talk, Ingrid informed Emma that Sam Winchester had called, asking if Emma would come over.

Emma had readily agreed, so they’d driven off to Dean’s house. Hopefully Dean would have an explanation for bailing on her the day before.

Emma thought the house was cute; it had four light beige pillars holding up the porch, leading to a beautiful glass door. The dark roof was steeped, and the brick façade was gorgeous. The lawn was immaculately kept, with short green grass—which looked surprisingly healthy, given that it was the middle of November—and there was smoke billowing from the brick chimney.

“You have your cell phone, right?” Emma shook her head. Ingrid sighed, then handed Emma her own cell phone. “Call me for anything, okay? Don’t be embarrassed if you want to come home early.”

“Yeah,” Emma replied shortly, smiling softly at Ingrid. Ingrid smiled back, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Well, I’ll see you at seven then.” Ingrid waited until Emma had rung the doorbell before she drove away.

Emma sighed, and turned towards the door as it was opened. She was startled by who answered.

“Hi Emma,” the giant grinned, a display of large, straight white teeth.

She couldn’t recognize this guy from Storybrooke either. He looked to be nearly a foot taller than Emma, and was built like an athlete. His hair was long and wavy, nearly touching his shoulders, a chestnut brown. He had a sturdy, tanned jaw that was clean shaven, which was probably a good thing—he’d look like he belonged on the cover some pirate romance novel if he were sporting a five o’clock shadow. He was wearing a blue pastel button-up shirt and black slacks, no shoes, and had a thick watch around his wrist.

“Hi, um, Mr. Winchester?”

Mr. Winchester chuckled, waving Emma inside. “You know you can call me Sam. How have you been, Emma?” Sam asked. When he shut the door, a second man joined them, another one who Emma couldn’t place for the life of her.

He had big, slate-blue eyes with thick eyelashes, sharp cheekbones and a jaw that _was_ sporting stubble. His hair was thick and dark. He was wearing a loose grey shirt with blue jeans, and he immediately slung an arm around the taller man’s waist. His smile was blindingly bright and happy.

“Emma, so good to see you!” The second man exclaimed.

“I’m all right,” Emma said “Good to see you too.” Glancing around the apparent living room, she spotted Dean coming down a hall to her right. He waved urgently.

“Hey Emma, thanks for coming,” Dean grabbed Emma’s hand and started tugging her down the hallway. Emma noticed that his hand felt almost like Killian’s hand had before the curse, without all the rings Killian was always sporting.

“Leave your door open,” Sam called to Emma and Dean’s retreating backs.

Dean pulled Emma into the last room to the right of the hallway. It was a small and utilitarian, and Dean closed the door behind them. He let go of Emma’s hand in favor of the backpack stowed underneath the twin-sized bed and started rummaging around. While he was looking, Emma surveyed Dean’s room.

His bed was shoved up against the wall opposite the door, right underneath the only window. The window was large, and looked out onto the front lawn. Across from the bed, there was a wooden desk that was organized very neatly. Emma noted a few pictures of a girl, who looked to be in her early twenties, with ringlets of blonde hair and a bright smile. Other pictures were of Sam and Dean, and the third man. Emma noticed one picture frame was placed down against the desk, so the picture couldn’t be seen.

There were two other doors in the room, one that presumably led to a closet, the other to a bathroom. Emma thought they both had gotten a lucky draw with this curse—teenagers with their own bathrooms! She would have loved to have this kind of set-up when…when she was this age.

“Here we go,” Dean intoned. Emma glanced at him, and saw that he’d pulled out the one and only story book.

“Where did you find this?” Emma asked incredulously, sitting next to him on his bed.

“I ran into Rumplestiltskin, or Mr. Gold, or whoever—my bet is on him for casting this curse—and he said they didn’t have any book like this. But the hot librarian came up to me with this as I was leaving, said some kids had left it, and just gave it to me.”

“Wow,” Emma exhaled, marveling at the books appearance. It shouldn’t have surprised her—Dean seemed to be the most out of touch with what had happened in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke. He was the one who’d needed the book the most, so it had appeared for him.

“Yeah. So, uh, that’s where I was yesterday. Reading the book. Killer ending, by the way,” Dean smirked, tilting his head slightly. Emma nodded; she agreed wholeheartedly.

“Anyways,” Dean intoned, clapping his hands together. Emma was focused on the book, checking to see if any new stories had been miraculously added. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You’re not from Storybrooke,” Emma guessed. After a couple moments of silence, she glanced up from the book and looked Dean straight in his wide emerald eyes. “I’ve been trying to figure out why I don’t recall ever seeing you or your parents—why you don’t seem to know anything about my family. You should have _at least_ known about Snow White and Prince Charming.” Emma shook her head, embarrassed that she had just come to the realization while looking at the pictures of him and his parents—or whoever they were in the real world.

Dean looked shocked for a moment before he cleared his throat, saying “Yeah, uh, we’re not from Storybrooke, or wherever. We’re from the real world, and we’ve got a job to do, so we really got to figure this thing out so we can be on our way.”

Emma frowned at the seriousness of his expression. “A job? What kind of job is so important that—”

“My brother and I hunt monsters,” Dean interrupted, tightening his lips and looking away. “And Cas is kind of in charge of Heaven right now.”

 

**Dean**

“How have you been, Emma?” Dean heard Sam say as the front door shut. Hurrying out of the bathroom, Dean tried to intercept the girl before Sam or Cas said something to put Emma in the spotlight. He didn’t want her to find out about the Incident That Wasn’t before he told her himself.

“Emma, so good to see you!” Castiel exclaimed, joining Sam. Dean waved his hand when Emma glanced in his direction, and she visibly relaxed.

“I’m all right, good to see you too,” Emma replied awkwardly.

“Hey Emma,” Dean greeted, grabbing her soft hand. “Thanks for coming.”

“Leave your door open,” Sam called to the retreating teenagers. Dean responded by shutting the door. He quickly let go of Emma’s hand and grabbed his backpack from where he’d stashed it under his bed. Now was the tricky part; what should he say to her?

Dean pretended to rummage through his backpack, conscious that Emma was surveying his room with interest. He could admit that he was delaying while he tried to figure out if he wanted to say anything to Emma about the memory. And if he did decide to say something, how would he even bring it up?

Dean sighed, grasped the story book and turned around. Whether or not he would say anything, it was time to get down to business. “Here we go,” Dean said, holding the book out towards Emma.

Emma grabbed the book with a stunned expression on her face, her lips an O.

“Where did you find this?” She finally asked, sitting down next to Dean. She started flipping through it, staring at the pages with an expression filled with excitement.

“I ran into Rumplestiltskin, or Mr. Gold, or whoever,” Dean wasn’t sure which title to use. “My bet is on him for casting this curse—and he said they didn’t have any book like this. But the hot librarian came up to me with this as I was leaving, said some kids had left it, and just gave it to me.”

“Wow,” Emma exhaled, and Dean frowned. Under different circumstances, with a hot chick in his bed, Dean would be trying something different just about now. Unfortunately, these were not normal circumstances. Both teenagers were actually adults, and it felt weird. Plus, things were a bit more serious right now.

Instead, Dean felt the need to explain himself. “Yeah. So, uh, that’s where I was yesterday,” Dean lied through his teeth. “Reading the book. Killer ending by the way,” _princess_ , Dean mentally added, causing a smirk to grow on his lips. Emma simply nodded.

“Anyways,” Dean forced himself back to the process of coming clean. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He was almost out with it, with the secret of the memory, when Emma interrupted. “You’re not from Storybooke.”

Dean blinked, shocked. How had she figured that out? “Yeah, uh, we’re not from Storybrooke, or wherever,” He didn’t want to outright say the Enchanted Forest. “We’re from the real world, and we’ve got a job to do, so we really got to figure this thing out so we can be on our way.” _There_ , Dean thought, _short, and to the point._

Emma looked more confused, however. “A job? What kind of job is so important that—”

But Dean didn’t wait for her to finish. Always believing it was better to quickly rip the bandage off, Dean broke in, saying “My brother and I hunt monsters. And Cas is kind of in charge of Heaven right now,” he added, feeling the need to justify Cas’s presence other than _married to my brother slash father_. Which didn’t sound right, even in his head—but the entire situation wasn’t ‘right.’

Emma just sat there for a moment, looking at Dean with a strange expression on her face. He could practically see the gears turning in her head as she processed the information Dean just threw at her, and came to the conclusion that he was crazy.

In a flash, Dean was standing up and blocking the exit, just as Emma stood up and started towards the door.

“Out of my way,” Emma tried to push past Dean, but even as a teenager Dean had been strong. He easily grabbed her wrists to keep her from hitting him and to stop her from leaving.

“Let me explain!” Dean released her wrists when she yanked herself backwards, caught her arm so that she wouldn’t fall, and then leaned against the door. “Let me explain,” Dean repeated, his voice calmer this time. “I listened to your explanation about Storybrooke and your parents and everything, now you listen to me.”

Emma glared at him, crossing her arms. But she didn’t say anything, so Dean took that as the go-ahead.

“My brother and I hunt monsters,” Dean reiterated. “In our world—”

“It’s my world too, jackass,” Emma interrupted.

Dean pretended to ignore her. “—there are ghosts, and there are demons and werewolves and a hell of a lot of other things that go bump in the night. These things—they feed on people, and they kill and posses people just for the hell of it. My brother and I have been raised to gank—to—to kill the monsters. I have no friggin’ clue why we were dragged into your mess of curses and fairytale characters.”

Emma was about to say something again, but Dean held a hand up, and she quieted. “Now, I gave you the benefit of the doubt before I actually read the story book. The least you can do is show me the same courtesy until I can give you some concrete _proof_ of what I am saying.”

Dean didn’t mention that Castiel had popped in on Dean in angel form to cause his change of heart. It would just lessen his credibility.

Emma appeared to be thoroughly deliberating over Dean’s words. He held his breath and watched her visibly deciding whether or not to trust Dean. Finally, after a minute and a half of thinking, Emma finally nodded. She turned around and sat back on his bed.

“All right,” Emma threw her hands up for a moment, and then placed them back on her lap. “All right, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Suddenly, she was right in front of him. She was more than half a foot shorter than he was, but she managed to look threatening as she narrowed her eyes up at Dean.

“But if you are tricking me, if you’re lying, then you’ll have _me_ to deal with.” And damn Dean if he didn’t think that was at least a bit of a frightening prospect. “And I’ll warn you; where I’m from, I’m pretty damn powerful. Now. Let’s get to work breaking this curse.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own supernatural, and I do not own Once Upon a Time. Anyone who claims otherwise is lying.

 

**Emma**

Emma grit her teeth against the strain of her concentration. She could _feel_ the light magic coursing through her veins, could feel it pumping under the surface, eager to be utilized. She wanted it _so badly._ She could practically taste the magic on her tongue, it was ripe for the taking.

Emma sighed, letting her arms drop. _Apparently, it's not ripe enough_ , she thought, hanging her head.

"You'll get it," Dean consoled awkwardly, holding his arms slightly out from his sides, as if unsure of what to do with them. Emma narrowed her eyes; _she_ was still unsure about what to do with _him_.

When he'd made his declaration about his job, Emma had believed him. And it unnervered her. Because although her internal lie detector hadn't told her he was lying, that could just mean he wasn't lying because he thought wholeheartedly it was the truth. While Emma hadn't pegged Dean as the crazy sort, it was too soon in their acquaintanceship to rule it out as an option.

The problem was, Emma had no reason to doubt Dean's word. She'd experienced magic, and wraiths, and werewolves in this world. She'd seen mermaids and fairies, giants and ogres in Neverland and the Enchanted Forest; why was it so difficult for her to accept that Dean and his brother/father (which sounded strange even to Emma, whose son was also her adopted step-uncle, and was shared with Emma's step-grandmother, Henry's step-great-grandmother/adopted mother) made their living hunting and killing these things?

Emma realized why a moment later; she'd grown up in this world, and until shortly after her twenty-eighth birthday, she never would have even _guessed_ at these things existing. To live that long with the wool thrown over her eyes...it was disconcerting to say the least. And it made Emma want pretend that he was lying, just so she could rest easy with a false sense of security.

But that wasn't the way Emma wanted to live, so she decided that she would have to suck things up and deal with this like an adult.

"Thanks," Emma responded a beat too late. "As frustrating as this is, I don't think magic will be the answer to our problems."

"Magic?" Sam asked in the doorway.

Emma whipped her head up, and saw Dean do the same. How had they not heard Sam enter the room?

He seemed mercifully oblivious to the conversation at hand, however. "Dinner time," he announced, smiling.

Dinner looked fairly unappetizing. _Sam's dinners usually are,_ fake-Emma piped up at the back of Emma's mind.

Emma felt a small pain bursting at the front of her mind. Slowly, she stood and followed Dean and Sam back down the hallway, hoping that the pain would dissipate. Unfortunately, it only got worse.

"So, Emma, what were you and Dean working on that involved magic?" Sam asked with a little smirk, after having served everyone seated.

It was a four-person table, with Dean across from Emma, Cas to her right and Sam to her left. Emma kept sneaking glances at Sam, then Dean, and noticed that there definitely _was_ a resemblance there. Dean's eyes were pure green, and Sam's were bright green diluted with brown. No less striking, however; Sam's eyes seemed inherently softer. They had roughly the same jaw line, square but angled. They were both freakishly tall—of course, Emma was slightly biased, seeing as she didn't top five and a half feet—and had sturdy builds. The resemblance could go either way as brother or father.

"Ah," Emma stuttered, attempting to think of something and coming up blank. "We just, uh, figured that…"

Luckily, Dean saved her. "We're working on a history project together, involves magic." He met Emma's eyes across the table, and Emma found herself lost in his gaze. He had such deep green eyes, with little hints of golden color, framed with thick blonde lashes. She could imagine—

"Emma?" Cas questioned. Emma broke her gaze with Dean and quickly glanced over at the shortest of the three men. He had slate blue eyes, darker than Killian's but no less enigmatic. After a moment more of Emma's silence, he repeated the question that Emma must have missed. "I hear that Ms. Smith has chosen to substitute for your regular math teacher?"

"Yes!" Emma exclaimed, suddenly excited.

He knew Ms. Smith? Maybe this was her and Dean's in. They'd discussed the potential casters of this curse at length, deciding that Rumplestiltskin and Ms. Smith were their top targets, shortly followed by Regina(although Emma was certain she'd turned over a new leaf, there was no harm in making sure) and then the Snow Queen. Dean imagined that some demon king or whatever named Crowley could potentially be involved, but he wouldn't put money on it. They were both confused as to why the residents of Storybrooke _and_ these three were included in the curse.

"Well…" Cas continued after a moment. "Is she doing all right? She was nervous about starting the job."

"Cas works with her as a receptionist at her therapy firm," Sam supplemented. "But he's working on his master's in psychology, so we may have a therapist in the family soon," he continued proudly.

"I would _love_ to meet her outside of school," Emma was about to say. But something caught her tongue, and she found she couldn't think, she couldn't speak, and she couldn't move.

_It happened so quickly,_ fake-Emma's voice rang through her skull, the words piercing as sharp, isolated points in her skull.

 

_"Am I doing it right?" Emma asked. She was nervous; or, she was nervous in the memory, at least. It was strange, being semi-conscious in a memory at the same time that her memory-thoughts and feelings floated through her. She was nervous that this was her first time driving, nervous that her parents weren't exactly coherent enough to guide her along._

_Confirming her suspicions, her father spoke to her in a slightly slurred voice to her right. "You're doing fine, hun." He said. She didn't spare a glance towards him, too focused on the dark road before her. She heard her mother snoring in the back seat._

_Sweat was dampening Emma's palms, loosening her grip on the wheel. Real Emma dimly realized what moment was being showcased in her mind; the moment her parents were killed. No wonder everyone was walking on eggshells with her; she had killed her parents! If Emma had done the same, she would be overcome with guilt._

_"Stop up ahead and look away," Emma's father intoned, and Emma mentally corrected that he meant look_ both ways _. She applied the brakes forcefully, sending her mother crashing against the back seat._

_"Gentle!" Her father exclaimed, and Emma panicked. She eased her foot off the brakes, but when she realized she wouldn't stop in time to make it to the stop sign, her gut dropped out from under her. She didn't know whether to halt immediately or to try and slowly apply brakes, and there wasn't enough time for her to decide. It was a split-second decision that she didn't make in time; the second she passed the stop sign, a car started blaring its horn, and everything_

_started to_

_crack_

"No!" Emma exclaimed, suddenly thrust back into reality. _Where was she? What was she doing—what was she doing here, at the_ Winchester's _house? She and Dean weren't on speaking terms…_

"Emma! Emma, come back! It didn't happen, whatever that was?" Emma blinked, looking deep into Dean's green eyes. And slowly, the world came back into focus.

_Oh, shit_ , Emma thought, her stomach dropping to her feet. This was turning into more than just a few snapshots of what the fake-Emma would've said. For a moment there, after waking from the memory…she'd actually thought she _was_ that fake Emma.

 

**Dean**

Dean had debated on whether or not to tell Emma about his own memory collapse the entire drive back to her house. Ultimately, he'd decided he couldn't do it with both Sam and Castiel in the car with them, and would have to wait until they were alone again.

With that decision crossed off his list of things to think about, he'd turned towards the other items on the list, namely; whether or not Crowley was involved in the curse; whether or not he could find any weapon, namely the angel blade that could kill anything, and how he, his brother, and Cas fit in to all of this curse crap.

"Doing all right in there Dean?" Speak of the Angel…

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean replied shortly, hoping the response would be enough for Cas to leave it alone.

It wasn't. "I just think it might be stressful for you, trying to regain your friendship with Emma, while harboring romantic feelings for her."

"Excuse me?" Dean spluttered, staring at Cas as he sat down at the head of Dean's bed. "Romantic what? I don’t have any _romantic feelings_ towards Emma," Dean made a face, though he was internally shocked at Cas's assumptions. Had he expressed any… _feelings_ about Emma in Cas's fake memory? Was he that much of a _girl_ in this world?

_Would it be that bad if I_ did _like her?_ A small voice piped in at the back of Dean's head. He shut that thought down immediately. But then again…would really be that bad? It was assumed that they were both adults, and Dean never really minded a cougar—of course, the older ladies mostly had the hots for Sam. Ages aside, Emma seemed like a decent chick. He had no idea if she was his type, though. It looked like she could grow into babe—

Dean shut that thought down quickly, too. It was too _weird_ , God damn it! He had never had to deal with a situation like this before. Hell, he doubted _anyone_ had had to deal with this sort of situation before.

"Come on Dean," Cas responded, tilting his head and smiling. "You've made yourself quite clear in the past, don't let yourself get psyched out now. All I wanted to say is that you should let these things come naturally, don't try and force them. Emma's a smart girl, she'll figure it out eventually."

"Yeah, but she's with the damn senior," Dean heard himself saying.

"Not anymore. Ingrid tells me they just broke up today. And," Cas said, looking at Dean slyly from the corner of his eye, "I'll leave you with that information. Good night, Dean."

"Night," Dean replied absently. Internally, he was wondering; what had caused the split-up? Was it mutual, or…? Dean shook his head. _It doesn't matter_ , he told himself. At the back of his mind, however, he was already planning on asking her how old she was before the curse hit. Sure, it was rude to ask a lady her real age, but Emma didn't seem like the kind of chick who'd mind. And if he could find a way to just slip it in there…

Dean groaned; he really had better things to be thinking about. Despite this, Dean felt his thoughts slipping away from plans on breaking the curse to the way Emma Swan smiled, even when it wasn't a real smile, every few minutes. And those thoughts carried him through the night, until he had to force himself to go to sleep before Emma Swan consumed him. And even then, thoughts of her bright green eyes were the last thoughts in his mind before he drifted to sleep that night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Emma**

Emma was considerably disoriented. After having left Dean's house following her apparent collapse, she'd quickly locked herself in her room, feeling all out of sorts. The feeling had persisted throughout the rest of the day, and the day afterwards, until Monday morning when she looked up into the mirror and wondered aloud, "Maybe Mary-Margaret and I can make plans for after school."

She'd quickly snapped out of the train of thought, but it had left her shaken. This was different from the other bursts of memory Emma had had; it wasn't a full on-flash back where she was conscious, though passed out. Nor was it a passing thought that would have crossed fake Emma's mind where Emma knew it wasn't real. Emma had genuinely believed that everything was normal, and she should indeed make plans with Mary-Margaret for a study session.

_It's time_ , Emma thought as she walked into her first period history class _, that I tell Dean about what is happening._ Who knows, maybe Dean was dealing with the same problem. Or perhaps in his many years of hunting strange creatures, he'd encountered something like this?

"Emma, hey, we gotta talk," Emma glanced up as she took a random empty seat, hoping no one sat there frequently. Dean was in the entryway, walking towards her. Emma slowly opened up her book bag, fished out her red notebook—marked History—and a pen, then turned her attention back to Dean. He was looking at her funnily. Dean took the seat in front of her, and quickly turned around. Emma noted that he didn't any backpack or notepads with him—he wouldn't be able to take any notes that way.

"Hey Dean," Emma replied. She shook herself abruptly—why had she cared so much about history notes? "I agree. So, let's talk." She waited a beat, then continued speaking. "I've been having…thoughts inside my head that I don't think are meant to be there. Like—"

"Fake thoughts, as if you were _actually_ a teenager," Dean nodded. "Yeah, uh, me too."

Emma blinked, then leaned closer to Dean. She glanced around the classroom to make sure no one was listening in, and almost smiled when she saw a teenaged Ruby take her seat. "Why do you think this is?" Emma asked, hoping Dean would have an answer.

With her experience of memory potions, these things weren't supposed to be faulty. It was supposed to be all or nothing, not this strange and uncomfortable in-between place where half her memories were being pushed aside by fake ones. If Emma was being truthful, she had to admit that the fake memories were _seeming_ more real than her actual ones. Her first meeting with Henry was blurred by thoughts of her sixteenth birthday in this reality. Realizing Mary-Margaret and David were her parents was pale in comparison to her memory of Ingrid consoling her in a hospital bed, with all her friends surrounding her. There were still gaps, sure…but those gaps were closing by the day.

Emma could think of two possible solutions, though neither would weigh up to much scrutiny; either there was something more powerful than a memory potion that would dampen the effects of one, or this was a slow and unusual punishment from whatever villain was planting the fake memories in replacement for the old, real ones.

On second thought, if it were Regina, Emma wouldn't put it past the Evil Queen. But Emma didn't see any motive, and couldn't get behind that idea without further proof that Regina had gone off the deep end.

"I ain't got a clue," Dean confirmed Emma's suspicions, folding his hands on her table. "But let me tell you, it's friggin' _weird_." Dean shook his head. A blush was rising on his cheeks, light pink staining his freckled nose and high cheekbones. Emma found it endearing.

"Hey," Emma intoned. She covered his folded hands with one of her own. "We'll get through this, we'll figure this out. I promise. Trust me, this isn't even _close_ to what I've dealt with before."

"Yeah, well, same here. Doesn't mean this isn't freaky," Dean replied before turning around as the teacher called the class to order.

 

"Dean, come on," Emma motioned after spotting Dean in the hallway. They didn't have second or third period together, so it had been a gamble trying to find him in the hallways between the two periods. But she had spotted him a second before he slipped into a classroom nearly half the hallway down from hers.

Snagging his arm, Emma started pulling Dean down the hallway, dodging the other students with surprising ease. It was also surprising that Dean went along so willingly with Emma pulling him out of class—then again, Dean had never really cared about punctuality.

_There it is again_ , Emma thought, realizing that her fake thoughts had bled almost seamlessly into her internal monologue. She'd caught it this time, though Emma knew she was catching fewer and fewer of these unwanted thoughts.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked after a few moments, just as Emma was reaching the classroom.

"Meeting with Ms. Smith," Emma replied. "The other students will think our behavior strange, but I don't really care at this point. I've spent too much time in a teenage body; I'm starting to remember why I craved adulthood so much."

Emma let go of Dean's hand and pulled open the heavy door into her math classroom; there, at the front of the class, stood Ms. Smith. She smiled warmly at Emma, but when her eyes lit on Dean, she paled considerably, a fact which did not slip by Emma. With a quicker reaction time than Emma would have suspected, Ms. Smith grabbed a long black coat off of her chair, slipped it on and pulled the hood up before Emma could blink.

"Class, I am feeling under the weather. If you'll excuse me," Ms. Smith spoke roughly, her voice contorted to sound more masculine. Emma tried to grab her as the substitute teacher/therapist tore out of the room, but didn’t even manage to slow her down. Ms. Smith pushed past Dean, who was tying his shoelace, and must have been tying it the whole time in the doorway. Dean glanced up briefly, but went back to knotting his shoes before he stood up and approached Emma.

"So, was that the teacher?"

"Yes," Emma replied, her voice tinged with confusion. "That was her. As soon as she saw you…Dean, do you think whoever—" Emma broke off as soon as she realized she had an audience. Sighing, Emma grabbed Dean's arm and tugged him out of the classroom and into the empty hallway, ignoring her mother's questions and confusion at Emma's decidedly aggressive display.

"Do you think whoever may have cast this curse…I mean, do you know any curse casters?" Emma wasn't sure how to say it. "Do you think any one of your former…enemies could have done this?"

"No," Dean replied, shaking his head resolutely. A smug smirk stole across his lips. "Sam and I pretty much made sure our _enemies_ were too far under the dirt to concoct any revenge schemes."

"That's not the complete truth," Emma responded, sensing that he wasn't lying, but also wasn't telling the whole truth of the matter.

"Well," Dean shrugged, "Sam and I ain't perfect, but we do all right."

Emma bit her lip, wondering what she and Dean should do next. She didn't quite feel like heading back into class, though she knew Ingrid would be severely disappointed when she got home later. As long as Emma's next few hours were free, she could deal with whatever repercussions came from her decision. Even if those repercussions included more sessions with the escape artist Ms. Smith.

It was then that the thought hit her; with Ms. Smith feeling under the weather, during school, she was completely occupied. Which meant that her office at whatever firm she worked at would be vacant—and perfect for an intelligence operation.

Emma turned back to Dean, smiling hugely. She knew exactly how this would work…

 

**Dean**

Dean hoped Emma knew what she was doing.

After stopping by the library to look up where Ms. Smith's office was, Dean and Emma started towards her office space, which was pretty close. They only ended up walking for about fifteen minutes before they reached the small cottage-like office, which was locked. Dean was both surprised and impressed when Emma knelt down and started working at the lock with a bobby pin she'd pulled seemingly out of thin air.

"It's all about the tumblers," Emma reassured him. Dean was not reassured. He was glancing around nervously, not quite sure why he was following Emma's lead in this—he should have been at school, focusing on class. Sam would kill him if he found out about this, and Dean happened to like living.

"How long is this going to take?"Dean asked gruffly, at the same time that the locks clicked. Emma jiggled the handle, and the door opened inwards. Emma glanced up at Dean with a smug smile, before cautiously entering the office.

Dean followed behind her, shutting and locking the door behind him. He glanced around at the sparsely finished room, wondering if it was supposed to provide a soothing atmosphere. There was a white couch to his left, in front of it a plain white coffee table without any magazines on top. The walls were a light grey, and there was a small reception area, where Dean assumed Cas must work. There was a short hallway with five doors; two on each side and one at the end. Dean followed Emma down the hallway, opening the doors on the right.

The first room featured a room that made _Dean_ question whether he needed therapy; the room was completely white, with no color whatsoever to counteract the brightness, which nearly blinded him despite the fact that it was dim inside. There were no nooks or crannies where anything could've been hidden, so Dean moved on to the next door.

He was about to open it up when Emma exclaimed "Jack pot!" and went in the first room on the left.

Dean followed close behind her, closing the door once they were both in. It appeared to be Ms. Smith's office.

"Careful not to put everything back exactly as it was," Dean warned as he started rummaging in an unlocked filing cabinet.

"I could give you the same warning," Emma replied. Dean almost snorted. It was something Sam might reply with.

"I don't know what you're planning on finding in here," Dean spoke quietly, glancing around has he did so. There was something not right about this. It was too easy to sneak into a teacher's therapy office—even if he was running with an excellent lock-pick. Dean was about to mention this to Emma, when he turned around and saw what she was holding.

It was a thing blade, longer than his forearm, that tapered to a sharp, silver point. The hilt was silver as well, larger than the blade but only barely. Emma held it incorrectly, grasping it like a fork rather than the dagger it was.

An angel's dagger.

"Where did you find that?" Dean didn't care about the volume of his voice anymore; he was more interested in why the substitute teacher was packing an angel blade in her shrink's office.

"It was just in the drawer here," Emma replied, thrusting the blade out towards Dean. He took it, flipped it around so he was holding the hilt, and looked up to grin at Emma.

"This is what I'm talking about. This baby will kill _anything_ without prejudice. Ms. Smith must be an angel—which means that there are more people from my world like me. I may be more involved than I thought," Dean admitted, tucking the blade into the pocket inside his jacket. "Maybe Crowley is responsible—though I doubt he'd work with angels just to get rid of Sammy and me."

"Remind me who that guy is again?" Emma questioned, then went still. Dean didn't have to ask—he had heard the noise too. Somewhere inside the cottage, a door had opened and slammed shut. Dean was frozen, torn between ganking whatever was out there and staying in the office to pray whatever it was didn't come into this room.

Emma moved first, grabbing Dean's wrist to tug him under the desk. It was a clichéd hideout, and tight quarters, but it was better than Dean's plan of standing around until either he got caught or decided to confront whatever was in the hallway.

He heard footsteps approaching, and quietly unsheathed the angel knife from his jacket. A moment later, the door to the office opened. Dean felt Emma tense against his chest; she was holding her breath. They both waited as the footsteps drew near, and papers ruffled not even five feet away. Dean was almost holding his breath as the footsteps came around the side of the desk and…

Halted. Dean didn't know why the stranger stopped, but for whatever reason, they kept out of Dean's line of sight. Slowly, the other person stepped away from the desk. A moment later, Dean heard the door close again, and Emma let out a breath. Dean clamped a hand on her mouth, still waiting. Sure enough, the door opened once more and closed, before the room went silent once more.

Emma turned slowly, and Dean released her. They crawled out from under the desk, Dean keeping his back to the wall and the knife held steady.

They faced each other, and Dean kept his eyes trained on Emma's face, certain she was going to start laughing, or crying, or something. But a minute after the lock clicked back at the front door, Emma was still staring at him, as if weighing him. Dean allowed himself to be scrutinized, and ultimately ended up breaking the silence.

"Well, that was fun," Dean intoned sarcastically. Emma smiled wryly a quick twisting of her lips that Dean barely noticed.

"Not my idea of fun," she replied. Crossing her arms, she turned to the door and appeared to be weighing her options. "We should wait it out a few more minutes, make sure they're really gone," Emma suggested. Dean nodded, agreeing completely.

 

Dean had followed Emma back to her house, where they both now sat at a breakfast bar, eating pie that had been left on the counter. The angel blade sat between them, and Emma was staring at it solemnly. Dean didn't want to break the silence this time, especially not with two more slices of apple pie on his plate. No, he'd wait for Emma to speak this time.

"Ingrid must be out shopping or something," she said finally, not taking her eyes off the blade. Dean was about to reply, when Emma abruptly change the subject. "We need to work on our leads. Tomorrow, you need to find Ms. Smith, and I'll talk to Rumplestiltskin. We'll meet up, say, during lunch the next day to talk about what we've found, okay?"

Dean nodded. "I definitely need to check out this teacher-therapist chick, especially since we found this in her office."

"She doesn't seem to want to be found, though," Emma replied.

"She doesn't have to want to be found," Dean said, turning his head so that he was looking into Emma's green eyes. She looked like she was about to say something else, changed her mind, then blurted out "I'm thirty," without further ado.

Dean chuckled. "Thirty-four," he replied, sending her a wink. Emma's eyes narrowed on Dean.

"Liar," Emma called him out. That just caused Dean to laugh harder.

"Come on, don't you know it's rude to speculate on a man's age?"

"I'm pretty sure that applies only to women," Emma reiterated. Dean laughed again.

"This is some good pie," Dean said as he took another bite.

"I'm glad you like it," came a voice in the doorway. Dean glanced up to see a woman standing there sharing a startling resemblance to Emma.

"Emma," the blonde intoned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Care to explain?"

**The Library**

"Rumplestiltskin?" The chestnut-haired woman called out, glancing around at the stacks of books, both old and new.

"Sorry, can I help you?" A young brunette came walking up to the other woman, eyeing her with warmth.

"Yes, I am looking for Mr. Gold," The woman replied, realizing her folly in calling the old man by his real name. He was known simply as Mr. Gold here, though she knew he would undoubtedly respond to his actual moniker.

"Can I help you?" Came a third voice, this coming from the man in question. When her eyes met his, she couldn't conceal a shudder of revulsion; she could not see his soul as she would have been able to in her angel form, but she could tell by his eyes that this man's soul—or heart, or whatever the essence the Enchanted Forest operated on was—was rotten to the core.

"I come here to make a deal," the woman replied plainly.

"I'm sorry, this is a library," the brunette librarian cut in, holding up a hand. With a wave of his, Rumplestiltskin froze the young librarian mid-sentence.

"Dean Winchester will recognize me as an angel when he sees me, and I cannot change vessels in this form. I need a way to disguise myself."

"You're very to the point, aren't you dearie?" Rumplestiltskin asked rhetorically. "And what would be the compensation for such a large favor? Magic is waning here; there is very little left. What makes it worth my time to create an elaborate mask for you to parade around in?"

The woman narrowed her eyes. "It would serve you well to accomplish my request. I am the one who released Metatron from his eternal cage; I can just as easily put _you_ in it."

"Threats will not work dearie, only bargains," the man was untouched by the display of aggression. "Though do hurry up; the longer Belle is in this state, the less magic I will have available to grant your desire."

The woman stared Rumplestiltskin down, replying without a blink. "What do you want in return?"

"Your grace," Mr. Gold replied quite plainly. "I know you have it with you," he continued when she looked down at her feet.

"That is out of the question," she finally replied. Rumplestiltskin shrugged in response.

"Then a deal with me is out of the question." And with a snap of his fingers, he undid whatever freezing spell he had cast on his wife.

"—not a place for making deals," Belle continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. Ms. Smith was already walking out the door.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time. I do not own Supernatural. I don't own the Indiana Jones trilogy (though I wouldn't mind some time alone with a young Harrison Ford).

 

**Emma**

"Dean was just leaving," Emma intoned. Dean glanced at his plate of pie, which still had a couple of pieces on it, and then back up to Ingrid. Emma was worried he'd choose to stay instead of following her indirect suggestion, but after a moment he got up, nodded his head to Ingrid, and left the kitchen. A moment later, Emma heard the front door closing.

It was a stare contest between Emma and Ingrid. Emma was waiting for a judgment to be made, Ingrid was probably waiting for Emma to start yelling at her about curses again. She was certain that Ingrid was about to snap when, abruptly, the Snow Queen dropped her stiffened shoulders and sighed. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then started cleaning up Dean's spot.

"I have some groceries in the car," Ingrid spoke softer than was usual, not looking up at Emma. "Would you mind?"

"No, of course not," Emma responded, feeling strangely guilty. She didn't know whether or not it was a fake emotion or not; either way it spurred her to quickly bring the dozen bags of groceries inside. When she was finished, she sat quietly at the counter, waiting for a verdict.

For her part, Ingrid was pretty silent as she put the groceries away. She would glance at Emma every few minutes, appraising her, but wouldn't say anything. Even when she was finally finished with the groceries, she only started making a cup of tea, taking a second to ask if Emma wanted some tea as well. Emma waited with bated breath, consciously aware of the fact that she was thinking like a teenager about to be scolded by her parent, but not really caring either way. Finally, the tea was poured, and Ingrid motioned Emma into the living room.

"So, Ingrid…" Emma finally muttered, after sitting in silence for far too long—it felt more like a week than a minute.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Ingrid asked abruptly, taking a quick glance at Emma before turning on the television. "I saw the Indiana Jones trilogy is playing today; let's see which one is on.

Emma watched mutely as Ingrid flipped through the channels. She took a sip of her tea, and found it tasted slightly nostalgic—even though tea wasn't really Emma's drink of choice.

_"Here Emma, let me make you some tea,"_ Emma heard Ingrid say, though she knew it wasn't the current Ingrid that was speaking. Emma shook herself, hoping she wouldn't fall into a 'memory' like she had at the Winchester's house.

Luckily, it didn’t seem to be in the cards. Emma put the tea down on the coffee table, hoping it would stave off any more potential memories.

"Oh, this one is my favorite!" Ingrid exclaimed, turning on Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.

"I have to disagree; Temple of Doom is way better," Emma vocalized calmly.

"You've always thought so," Ingrid replied, smiling a bit. Then she sighed, turning away from the television. "Emma, I don't know what is going on with you. I don't know why you and Killian broke up, I don't know why you’ve decided to hang out with Dean again, and I don't know why you've been skipping class. I am _worried_ about you, Emma. I need you to know that I will always be here for you—Elsa and I are your _family_ and we will never give up on you.

"If this is about seeing Ms. Smith, then consider the appointment cancelled; you don't have to go if you don't want to. I believe it is what is best for you, but if it makes you uncomfortable to be seeing a therapist—"

"It's not about seeing Ms. Smith," Emma shook her head, "I don't know…I mean, I just think that—"

"You don't have to tell me anything, Emma," Ingrid interrupted. "You don't have to justify yourself to me; I'm not mom or dad. If you want to talk, I'm here for you. But if you don't…that is fine too," Ingrid gave Emma a warm smile, which Emma quickly reciprocated.

Was it just the fake memories talking, or was Emma really starting to care for Ingrid? It made her uncomfortable at the same time that it made her feel…well, Emma couldn't described the emotion she felt when she heard Ingrid tell her that she and Elsa would be there for her. It was a good feeling, though, of that Emma was sure.

Ingrid turned back to the television, and Emma followed suit. By the time the Raiders of the Lost Ark rolled into the Temple of Doom, Emma was relaxing against the couch and actually _enjoying_ watching the movies with her sister by her side.

 

"I swear, I just need to go to get a book," Emma promised, raising her hands as if in a defensive position. Ingrid was shaking her head, so Emma continued, "Elsa can come with me! She'll take me, and she'll guard the exits and everything will be _fine_ , ten minutes max."

"I don't mind taking her," Elsa spoke up. She'd just gotten home from the school Emma had skipped, and was setting up her backpack by the breakfast nook to do her homework. Had it been Emma, Emma would have readily agreed to get out of doing homework as well.

"Fine, but you have half an hour before I come looking for you," Ingrid warned softly.

In Elsa's car, there was a silence as thick as pea soup. Emma and Elsa were great friends in the real world, but Emma was starting to feel a strange distance from Elsa. She waited awkwardly for Elsa to park at the library, and eagerly left the car before her sister could say anything to her.

Inside the library, Emma pretended to browse the shelves while Elsa wandered around. When Elsa was out of sight, Emma focused on her true mission; interrogating Rumplestiltskin.

Emma spotted Mr. Gold conversing with Bell behind the front desk. Glancing around, Emma headed for him.

"Emma, what can I do you for?" Mr. Gold asked.

Emma placed her hands on the counter and leaned towards him; it was a move she'd practiced a thousand times, intended to intimidate. However, she didn't know how well the move went over as an unassuming teenager. Belle had the tact not to laugh out loud, though Emma could tell she had stifled a giggle.

"Of course," Mr. Gold replied, kissing Belle on the cheek. "Just one second dear," he told her, and then led the way through the library, towards the back where there were three empty conference rooms. He chose the closest one, leaned casually against the wall while Emma stood before him.

"Rumplestiltskin," Emma tried. She had such a small chance to catch him in a mistake by using his real name, but she might as well try.

"The fairy tale character?" Mr. Gold replied. "You can probably find him in the Grimm Fairytales; he is the one who spun straw into gold, was he not?"

"He also taught the Evil Queen dark magic, didn't he?"

"I don't believe I recall that story, dearie," he answered, careful to keep from speaking any direct lies. "Is there a purpose to this little chat?"

"I'm just wondering what you gain with all of this, this new life. You and Belle seem to be faring the same, no one is in any direct suffering, or experiencing any happy endings. What did you gain from creating this world?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you are referring to," Mr. Gold spoke, confusion lacing his tone. "Perhaps you should keep the fairytales where they belong; in the books."

Emma regarded Mr. Gold, weighing her options. On the one hand, she _knew_ that he was not under the influence of whatever curse was lain on this town. On the other, she doubted he would _ever_ let on to that fact. And while Emma was also sure that he knew she was on to him, she was certain he would find a way to get back at her if she made her knowledge widely known.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Emma pressed her lips together, thinking.

"Maybe you're right," Emma finally replied. Shrugging, she turned on her heel, calling over her shoulder, "Thanks for talking with me, though."

"Where were you?" Elsa asked as Emma came walking up to her. Elsa's long white-blonde hair was pulled into a loose braid, which looked like it had been fiddled with quite a bit.

"I couldn't find the book," Emma replied, uncrossing her arms as she kept pace alongside Elsa. "Listen, I think we need to talk—" _about the way I've been acting lately_ , Emma was going to say, followed up by an explanation of what would be viewed as quirky behavior. But before she could finish the sentence, Elsa interrupted.

"About Killian," Elsa supplemented, seeming to have come to the conclusion that Killian is all Emma would be likely to want to talk about. "You figured it out; I wanted to be the one to tell you, I am so sorry that he broke up with you and I _promise_ that I didn't ask him to."

"Elsa, what are you—"

"Just let me finish!" Elsa exclaimed, sounding flustered. "You know I've always had a crush on Killian, and I thought it was fine, I would get over it eventually, what is important is that you and I are okay. And now that you aren't together Killian thought that we would have a chance but I promise, Emma, I said no. I would never do that to you."

Emma was stunned. She _knew_ there had been something she was missing, but hadn't been paying enough attention to put it all together.

"It's all right," Emma said softly, wondering why she felt so _okay_ with everything. A few days ago, she was sure that she was on track to having a deep connection with Killian, potentially even—eventually—coming to love him. But now here she was, giving Elsa her blessing to dating Killian? It felt all wrong, but at the same time, there was a part of Emma that felt relieved. Relieved that she wouldn't have to think about working out the kinks of a new relationship once everything returned to normal, relieved that she would have this to stand behind in case Killian tried to fix things—in a way, it made the whole situation a bit better. And if that made Emma an awful person for thinking so, so be it.

"It's all right," Emma repeated, weight lifted off of her chest. "It's okay Elsa, really, date him if that makes you happy. I say go for it, I mean really, if you've been waiting for the chance…take it." Her words came faster as she spoke, until it was all coming out in a rush of speech. "We're okay, we're family, we'll be fine. I don't care, just do what you want with him and I will be happy for you."

Elsa looked at Emma for a moment, and then a smile broke across her face. She wrapped Emma in a hug, throwing her arms around the younger girl's waist. Emma laughed a bit, hugging Elsa back.

"Now come on, we have to get back before Ingrid calls SWAT on me," Emma grinned, keeping an arm around Elsa's waist as they both walked out to Elsa's car.

 

**Dean**

Dean was unsure of what to do when he left Emma's house. He knew what he wanted to do—he wanted to go back in and finish his pie, and potentially hang out with Emma for a bit longer. But he didn't know what he _should_ do.

In the end, he chose to do what he thought Sam might do in this kind of situation—he went back to school.

When he got back, lunchtime was apparently just finishing up, so he grabbed a tray, grabbed some food, and sat down at the nearest table. Situated right next to him, Henry just happened to be there.

Dean could see where he got some of Emma in him; his eyes were the same shape, as was his nose. And the general open innocence to each of their faces was undoubtedly Emma's. Dean noticed the kid staring at him with an annoyed look about him, and flashed a grin.

"Hey, I'm Dean," he introduced. Sticking out his hand, Dean waited for the kid to shake it. Henry took Dean's hand warily, shook it, and then turned back to his lunch.

"Why are you sitting with us, Dean?" Henry asked, voice muffled through a mouthful of pizza crust. _Boy's gotta have priorities,_ Dean thought in amusement. _I think I'm going to like this kid._

"Well, why wouldn't I?" _Cool, I must be like some cool kid all the younger ones look up to._

"Usually you sit alone," a girl sitting across from Henry replied. Her hair was long, mousy brown, and curly. She had an ovular face with angled chocolate brown eyes, and kept stealing glances at Henry from out of the corner of her eye. _Or maybe this kid is the popular one._

"Today I'm sitting with you," Dean said to the group, just as the bell rang to signal the end of the lunch. They all started packing away their items into baggies and on their trays, disposed of them and, like clockwork, went to their next classes. Dean followed along with Henry, feeling along his pant leg for the angel knife in his pocket—luckily his pants had very deep pockets to easily conceal the blade.

"So Henry," Dean was saying, walking as close to the kid as possible in the mob-like crowd of people all scrambling to get to class before the next bell rings. But whatever Dean was about to say dropped from his tongue, as he saw a certain angel herding children into the nearest classroom.

When Dean stopped, so did she, as if she'd sensed a disturbance in the force. Turning, her eyes met his.

"Stop," Dean commanded before she turned to run. Lifting up the hem of his shirt, he showed her a flash of the blade he'd just nicked from her office. Letting the shirt fall back down, he edged closer. "I don't mind making a scene, but something tells me you'd prefer to keep things quiet.

Hannah nodded, and motioned Dean towards her, away from the other students. Dean followed, until they were alone in an unused classroom.

Dean looked the angel over, noticing how she'd done everything she could to look unlike herself. She was wearing her hair in a ponytail, was wearing copious amounts of make-up, and a dress. But Dean could still recognize her instantly.

"What are you doing here," Dean deepened his voice. "And what do you have to do with this curse?"

Hannah hesitated, as if she were about to try and make something up. But then she must have realized it would be futile; she'd already given away the fact that she was conscious, was not stuck with fake memories like everything else in this god damned town.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again to speak, resolve clear in her eyes. "I don't have to tell you anything,"

"I beg to differ," Dean replied, resting his hand on the hilt of the angel knife. "What do you have to do with this curse," Dean enunciated again. "And I'm asking nicely."

Hannah narrowed her eyes. "None of this would have happened if it were not for _you_. You had to distract Castiel from his mission, you and your _brother_ ," she spat. "I _believed_ in his cause, I believed him to be the leader we _needed_ to right this world. But he cannot live up to his full potential as our leader if he doesn't have his grace. So I sought Metatron to retrieve Castiel's grace in exchange for his freedom.

"It was too great an opportunity, however," Hannah continued, turning to gaze down at a desk, "to let pass. I could get rid of you and Sam at the same time that I bring Castiel back to his full power. Metatron cursed the town of Storybrooke to this town, but he didn't take into account the fact that there was already a curse in place—the Dark Curse, and it had only been half broken. The half of the Dark Curse that has yet to be broken allows Metatron's curse to be broken, which is why I am here. I must not allow Emma Swan to break this curse, and if you get in my way, I _will_ stop you."

Dean stared at Hannah. He needed to take a moment to reflect upon the information just thrown at him, but he didn't have a moment. He needed to get all the information out of Hannah while he could, and Dean had a feeling this would be his only chance.

"Why Emma? Why is she the only one who can break the curse?" Dean took a step towards Hannah, and she matched it with a step backwards. Dean advanced upon her, until she was leaning with her back against the window, only a couple of desks between them.

Hannah frowned, putting her hands up in a defensive position. "Why would I tell you that?" She questioned.

Dean was about to respond with another threat, but he had not time. Hannah turned around, opened the window behind her, and jumped through the screen before he could make another move.

Dean cursed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. At least he had half the answers, but he still was unsure as to how they would break the curse—and how Emma would be the one to break it.

 

"Hey, Emma, how did it go?" Dean asked, holding the phone close to his ear. He was the only one home—Sam and Cas were out somewhere, Dean didn't know—but he felt like he needed to be secretive about all of this.

"Not as bad as I imagined it would," Emma replied, her voice riddled with confusion, but also relief. "You know, we actually had a moment I think? Which is weird, because she's…a villain. But she doesn't _seem_ like a villain to me."

Dean had no idea what the hell Emma was talking about. "Yeah, sure, that's uh, confusing I bet. Uh, so I was talking to Hannah—it's Ms. Smith. I mean, she's not actually Ms. Smith, she's Hannah, and I know her—she's an angel." Emma started to say something, but Dean interrupted her, telling her about his conversation with Hannah. When he finished, there was a brief silence on the other end.

"I don't understand," Emma intoned. "When I had magic, maybe I would be able to break this curse, but now?"

"Hey, don't doubt yourself," Dean tried to cheer her up. "If everyone seems to think that you'll be able to break this thing, then I've no doubt that you'll do it." Inwardly, Dean couldn’t believe himself. _Really, a pep talk?_ It seemed way too cheesy, too much of a chick-flick moment for Dean to be capable of.

"Thanks Dean," Emma replied, actually sounding grateful for the cheering up. "I just hope you're right."


	13. Chapter 13

**Metatron**

Energy can be neither created nor destroyed; it can only change forms. In this chapter, you will not see the creation and destruction of energy, but energy—in the form of an angel's grace—taking shape, dissipating, only to be redefined in a different form.

An angel's grace is a precious thing. Those lucky ones who possess it are capable of wielding the very wrath and benevolence of God. Some of the most powerful creatures in existence, there is only one weapon that can completely wipe out an angel and its grace—an angel sword. And even the angel sword is not completely almighty. The angel sword rips apart the grace, molecule by molecule, atom by atom, but it does not eradicate the grace completely. It simply disperses it.

In the casting of the spell to force the angel's out of heaven, Castiel's grace was not completely eradicated. Nor was it ripped apart by an angel sword. The spell utilized the crux of Castiel's grace.

You can think of grace as you might think of blood—there are several different components of blood, as there are several different components of grace. The main components of blood are the plasma, the red and white blood cells, and the platelets, all of which function together to create a living breathing body. Likewise, in grace, there are platelets—the most important part of the grace, the part that contains the true… _magic_ of the grace.

There are the red and white blood cells which protect the grace, and the angel, from serious harm. They are also the components which allow the angel sword to rip apart the grace.

And then there is the plasma; the fluid, the essence in which the platelets and blood cells hang suspended. This is the major composition of the grace, the part that is the most difficult to destroy. The part that could not be destroyed by the spell cast. And the part that can keep Castiel alive and in full angel power—the platelets and cells of angel grace will regenerate if they have something to grow in. Castiel's plasma just needed to be found.

 

Metatron could feel Castiel's grace. He could see it, could practically taste it. This little angel's grace tasted particularly powerful, but that didn't matter to Metatron. What mattered was that he retrieved it, brought it back to Hannah, and rid himself for good of the prison cell.

Then killed everyone who had wronged him.

Metatron seethed with rage. Outwardly, he'd adopted the same calm demeanor which could chill most people to the bone. Inwardly, however, he was practically drowning in all of his hatred. _Too long_ , he thought, _too long I have waited for this, waited to see them all bathed in their own blood._

He'd always intended on killing Castiel, killing Hannah and the Winchester pests. No _dealings_ mattered to him. It was like making a deal with the gnat buzzing around your food; sure, you'd lure it into a fall sense of calm. But as soon as it landed…

Why go through all the trouble of collecting the remainder of Castiel's grace just to kill him? Even with a small bit of grace left, Castiel would become a full angel again. And when an angel dies, their lives are simply snuffed out. That is what Metatron wanted for him—he didn't want Castiel's soul flitting around, experiencing the afterlife. He wanted him _gone_.

Metatron was approaching a thin wall. It was a clean wall, pristine and white, surrounded on either sides by equally pristine white walls. An obvious location for the portal to heaven, but so obvious that it might be overlooked. Metatron took a breath, exhaled, and merged with the wall. It would only work for him—other angels would need the password, the answer to a riddle, or a key to the wards put in place by Metatron. However, Metatron was no ordinary angel. He needed only to _think_ about going through, and the portal would allow him entrance.

Metatron breathed a sigh of relief when he was inside. Heaven was usually so _dull_ , but after the chaos the Earth had been, it was a genuinely welcome relief. Metatron allowed himself a moment to revel in the silence and tranquility of an empty heaven, before he went on with his quest.

_They are not going to know what hit them_ , he thought as he followed his instinct towards where Castiel's grace was located. _And it will just take a few more days._

Once he had the grace, he had to set into motion his plan. His plan which would undoubtedly tie up all the loose ends of those who had wronged him. Dead would be the Winchesters, obliterated would be _Asstiel_ and Hannah, and Metatron would see what he could do about wiping that smug smirk of Mr. Gold's off of his face. He just needed to collect what he could of the leftover grace.

 

**Emma**

Emma didn't know what was wrong with her. It had started with a little niggling feeling that _something was off_ —more of, anyways, since _everything_ seemed to be off these days. She trudged downstairs, feeling entirely too comfortable with the layout of the house, and without a word accepted the proffered coffee from Ingrid. It had become something of a habit between the two of them. And her casual acceptance the habit still was not what felt off.

Emma felt…discombobulated. As if all of her pieces were not in order, like a Lego set that had yet to be put together, the instructions not yet read. But she simply could not put her finger on what the problem was.

She swept through her morning, remembering that today would be the day she had to face Ms. Smith in her office, somehow glad she would have Ingrid and Elsa by her side. Emma had always felt a kinship with Elsa, but with Ingrid? It was new, though strangely enough, not entirely unwelcome.

Emma took it with a grain of salt, and went to school, this time certain she would stay the _entire_ day. She needed to set a good example for Henry, assuming he would remember this alternate life when Emma set things to rights, however long that would take. When at lunch Emma spotted Dean, she decided to take their curse-breaking business to a quiet lunch table—much better than a B&E at a place of therapy.

"Hey Dean," Emma greeted, feeling strange again. She felt not unlike her teenage self whenever she was around a cute boy—but she wasn't a teenager anymore, and neither was Dean. She just had to remind herself of that.

Dean glanced up, blinked his bright green eyes, and smiled. "Fancy meeting you here," Dean intoned jokingly.

Emma laughed. "I was never really one to stick around at school the first time around, either."

"With those parents? I'm surprised they didn't make you _sleep_ at school." Dean tried to make it a joke, but when he saw Emma's face, he must've realized the implications of what he had been saying. Emma hadn't grown up with her parents around, but she wasn't so bitter about it anymore. She forced out a laugh.

"What about your parents? Are they as great as—"

"My mom died when I was four," Dean interrupted Emma. "My dad went a little nuts, practically raised Sam and I to be hunters. We had an Uncle, not by blood, but he was always good to Sammy and me. Dad never really got over our mom, and he and Sam clashed heads right up until the moment Sam ditched us for college."

Emma sat there a moment, stunned that Dean had offered up so much information about himself without prying. She almost felt a bit awkward about it, but tried to work around the mental block that had her searching for the right words. 'That must have been tough,' would seem too clichéd, but 'I'm sorry' would be worse.

_Why am I worried about how I will sound,_ Emma wondered in amazement. All the while Dean stared at her, waiting for a response.

"I only got to know my parents when I turned twenty-eight," Emma finally offered up, finding it the only real thing that she could say. "Before that, it was foster home after foster home. They were never even semi-permanent; whatever family I'd been dumped with usually realized pretty quickly that I caused more trouble than I was worth."

_Thank god_ I _didn't grow up in foster care; I don't know what I would do without Ingrid or Elsa_ , fake-Emma intoned. Emma frowned, but managed to keep her eyes on Dean. _Ingrid is the best sister a girl could ever ask for, as is Elsa. I don't know what I would do_

_without them._

_What would I do without them?_

_What would I do?_

_Emma shuddered, blinking. Something was off. Glancing around, she realized she was in the cafeteria. Across from her sat Dean Winchester. Since when was she talking to Dean again? Sure, he was nice and all, but ever since the incident…Emma wasn't sure. She had to be sitting with him for a reason, right? Other than that he was super cute…_

_"Emma?" Dean asked, snapping his fingers in front of her face. Emma blinked, annoyed._

_"Dean?" Emma replied, rolling her eyes. What was wrong with him?_

_"Emma!" Emma glanced up at Mary-Margaret and David as they sat down, Mary-Margaret next to Dean, David in front of Emma. Emma was glad to have her two best friends beside her during lunch. Why was she not sitting with them, but Dean? Emma frowned._

_"I'm not feeling so well," Emma spoke quietly. But it was a lie; she felt better than she had in days. So why was there a sudden oppressive feeling that something was off?_

**Dean**

Dean could tell something was off with Emma. As she was telling her story about foster care, a faraway look—not pertaining to the story—started to creep upon her. Her demeanor changed, and when Mary-Margaret called Emma's name, he knew something was seriously wrong. He thought they were sharing a moment for a second—as god damned cheesy as that was, and as much as he wished it weren't, it was true.

But then her face glazed over, and she said she wasn't feeling well…and Dean could see it. This wasn't the _real_ Emma. Somehow, she had slipped into the state of fake-Emma without passing out, or falling into a fake memory. Somehow, the change was happening quicker for her.

Dean's stomach churned.

How was he supposed to fix this mess without Emma? She couldn't very well break the curse if she was incapacitated like this.

Dean had to go find Rumplestiltskin. Maybe he did something to Emma that was making her act like this; Dean didn't know. But he needed to find out.

_Well, guess I'm going to have to screw school again_ , Dean thought.


	14. Chapter 14

**Emma**

Emma followed Mary-Margaret and David to their next class happily, wondering about her behavior for the past couple of days. Mary-Margaret and David seemed to think it strange, and Emma could realize that she had been acting strangely. Though if Emma was being truthful, she couldn't exactly pinpoint _why_ she'd been acting in such a manner, or _how_ she managed to snap out of it.

It didn't matter. Now that she was out of her funk, she had more important things to worry about. Like how she was going to get out of the therapy appointment with the substitute trigonometry teacher.

"Maybe I was subconsciously realizing that…whatever I had with Killian was coming to an end," Emma theorized out loud. "And I just started acting out because of it?" It made sense to Emma. She thought she and Killian were a strong couple—thought they would at least make it another year. But apparently things weren't meant to be.

"I don't know Emma," Mary-Margaret spoke hesitantly, as if she were wary about setting Emma off. "It seemed to me like a little bit more was going on."

Emma shrugged. "Well, I feel completely fine now. Anyways, feel like hanging out after school? My appointment isn't until like four o'clock, I could use some quality Mary-Margaret time," Emma smiled, nudging her shoulder against her friend's.

"Am I invited?" David interrupted, seeming to feel as if he were being left out. Emma laughed.

"Of course," she replied, her smile only growing on her face. She continued to smile as they walked down the hall, and into their next classroom. In fact, Emma didn't think her smile would drop for the rest of the day.

 

"I don't know what it is, I just feel like a new person," Emma intoned as she grabbed a croissant off the plate Ingrid offered her. She'd just gotten home from Snow's house and she was starved; Snow's parents were obsessed with health food, and Emma wasn't buying it. "I really don't think therapy will help anything."

It was true. Emma doubted that there was anything some old trigonometry substitute could divine from her that would make things…better. They were fine as they were; Emma didn't absolutely _love_ her life, but she didn't hate it. She was just an average teenager, and she was ninety-two point five percent certain that

"That is certainly a good thing," Ingrid spoke softly, hugging her arms to her stomach. "But Emma, yesterday you weren't, and that is a problem. You need to talk to Ms. Smith about…well, it doesn't matter, but you need to talk to her about _something_."

"I just don't see _why_ ," complained Emma, drawling out the why dramatically. She gazed at her croissant sadly, but quickly succumbed to the temptation to simply eat it. She felt like she had to go get a tooth pulled, going to the therapist office. If only there was something she could _do_ to convince Ingrid that seeing Ms. Smith wasn't the best idea in the world for Emma's tender sensibilities.

_No, no, this isn't right_ , a voice in Emma's mind poked in. She felt her gut clench; she _knew_ there was something wrong, but she couldn't pinpoint the cause. _What am I doing_? Emma wondered as she stared down at the croissant.

"Well sweetie, you don't have to see why," Ingrid replied, an amused smile lighting her face. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and she picked up a mug from the counter to sip. Emma sighed again, feeling exactly like a teenager who hadn't gotten her way. _Because that is what I am_ , Emma shook her head as the thought slipped through her. What was going on inside her brain today? It was starting to freak her out.

"Okay," Emma finally agreed, wanting the chatter in her brain to stop more than she didn't want to go to the therapist's office. She was starting to think she actually might need a therapy session.

"We have to leave now, grab a coat, it's chilly outside," Ingrid instructed, grabbing her own coat off of a chair. Emma nodded, searching for a jacket she could wear when—

"Ow!" Emma exclaimed, clutching at her head in pain.

"Emma dear, are you all right?" Ingrid asked, leaning close.

"Fine," Emma muttered, squinting her eyes tight. It felt like there was a jackhammer pounding against her skull—but she remembered. She remembered everything. "Yeah, I'm fine, let's go," Emma continued, taking a deep breath. She stood up again slowly, gained her footing, and nodded.

Ingrid looked her over for a moment, wary, but once she'd decided Emma was okay, she smiled. "All right, let's go."

 

**Dean**

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, more frustrated than he'd been when this whole affair began. Sam had picked him from school, and was insistent on Dean staying home, so Dean would need to go see Rumplestiltskin—Dean shook himself; the name still felt funny in his head—about why Emma was…acting like all of the other townspeople sometime when Sam and Cas were busy, but the library was still open. Dean had checked, and the library closed at ten, which was when Dad and Cas usually went to bed.

_Sam and Cas_ , Dean corrected himself, irritated that he'd succumbed to using the same lingo as the fake-Dean in his mind did. Sighing, Dean glanced up as Sam entered the room. Cas was in the kitchen, humming some tune that fluctuated between 'My Country 'tis of Thee' and 'Another One Bites the Dust.' Sam smiled briefly at Dean before taking a seat on the couch adjacent to where Dean sat.

"Working on homework?" Sam questioned, leaning back against the couch. Dean couldn't help but feel he was being studied. Dean didn't respond, simply continued scratching the meaningless words onto the paper. He wasn't trying to write anything; just trying to distract Sam and make him _think_ Dean was doing something.

"You know, I'm sure Emma plans on going to that dance your school is having on Friday. The winter formal?"

"I saw her picking out a dress with her older sister just a couple of weeks ago!" Cas interrupts his own tuneless humming to add.

"Yeah, so?" Dean grunted, scribbling at the paper faster than before. He knew where this was leading, and even if he _was_ a teenager, he was certain he wouldn’t want Sam—or his dad—nagging him to ask a girl out to a dance.

"You should ask her," Sam inserted casually, flicking between channels on the television.

It wasn't such a bad idea; Dean thought the whole dance, winter formal, whatever they were calling that crap these days, was just that—a load of bull. But if Emma liked that sort of thing, Dean could see himself getting all gussied up in a suit to take her. It didn't seem like the curse thing was going to resolve itself anytime soon, and if Emma was stuck as fake-Emma for very long, she might end up enjoying it too.

Dean shrugged, not making a commitment either way. He was considering it, sure; didn't mean he wanted Sam to know and pester him until he agreed. Father, brother, sister, cousin, whatever—Sam was the same. Dean smiled a bit, secretly loving the constant that was his brother.

"Okay, okay, the moment we have been waiting for—here comes the first gluten-free vegan pizza to grace this kitchen," Castiel announced grandly, carrying in a deceptive pizza—deceptive since Dean was sure it didn't taste _half_ as good as it looked.

Cast handed Dean a plate of three large, uneven slices, and sat down next to Sam with their plates. Sam placed his plate in his lap, wrapped an arm around Cas's shoulders, and started eating.

Dean looked down at the pizza warily; the crust was pale, but the cheese— _vegan cheese?_ Dean felt his stomach shudder in wary anticipation _—_ looked like normal cheese, and there were plenty of toppings. One topping looked like sausage, though Dean had learned it wasn't sausage that morning, when he had eagerly devoured the fake meat in hopes that it was real. It wasn't.

Taking a breath, Dean took a bite…and it was _disgusting_. _God damn,_ Dean thought, giving Cas an encouraging smile while he tried not to throw up, _once Emma breaks this curse, the first thing I'm doing is eating a_ real _pizza._

"Wow, Cas, uh," Sam seemed to be having similar thoughts on the pizza, though to his credit, he was better at disguising the reaction. "This is great!"

Cas grinned, clearly pleased, and kissed Sam on the cheek. Sam smiled again, and took another brave bite.

Dean managed an entire slice of pizza before he claimed exhaustion, and dragged his backpack into his room. If he couldn't leave right then, he would have to find something better to do with his time than eat pizza and hold a family bonding session. He considered calling Emma to see if she was back to her usual self, but then dismissed that plan. She would be at a counseling appointment anyways—that is, if Hannah was still in business. Dean didn't know how long it would take for Metatron to get Cas's grace back, but Emma needed to break the curse before that happened. Who knew what the wannabe god would do when he was back.

_I need to figure out what Rumplestiltskin has to do with all of this_ , Dean decided. Emma couldn't get any answers from him, but Dean could employ a different range of tactics. He would just need to speak to him about the curse while he was getting answers about Emma.

 

Rumplestiltskin was a smug, smirking bastard, and Dean wanted to wipe his greasy grin straight off of his face.

Dean had finally managed to sneak out of his house, and from there it was a quick walk to the library; he made it with half an hour to spare before closing. The instant he walked through the doors, he spotted Rumplestiltskin browsing the nearest shelves of library books. Standing next to him was the librarian, a baby boy nestled at her hip, sleeping the world away. Dean wondered if that was actually their child, or another trick of the curse maker's.

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed gruffly, stalking towards the older man. "I need to talk to you."

"You're a popular man lately," the librarian spoke, sounding curious, and a bit suspicious. Dean didn't care; he kept his focus on Rumplestiltskin. Dean didn't think he would slip away or anything, but John had taught him to never take your eyes off of a predator. _And that description fits Rumplestiltskin to a friggin' T._

"I'll be right back," Rumplestiltskin replied, kissing the baby, and then Belle, on the cheek, all the while not taking his eyes off of Dean. He straightened, and jerked his head towards a conference room. Dean followed, keeping an eye on Mr. Gold's back the entire time. When they were in the sparsely furnished conference room, Dean shut the door and leaned his back against it, blocking off the exit.

"Is there something you think I can help you with?" The man asked, placing both hands on his cane and leaning forward. Dean narrowed his eyes, stiffening slightly. He maintained his calm demeanor, however, and fired back a question of his own.

"Why is Emma acting like the rest of you?" Dean demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. He could feel the angel sword taped to his forearm—there'd been no holsters in his room—and he was ready to use it should the need strike.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Rumplestiltskin replied, cocking an eyebrow.

Dean furrowed his brow. "I think you do. And you're going to tell me," he shook his forearm until the blade dropped into his hand. "Now."

Rumplestiltskin didn't look cowed; his expression didn't even change from light boredom. "No matter what you have, I cannot give you an answer I do not possess. I could, however, be persuaded to help you on your quest to break this curse. For the right price."

Dean stared, simultaneously confused and shocked. Confused that the man was so willing to give answers, shocked that he let his façade drop so quickly. But he was quick, and nodded before Rumplestiltskin reneged his offer.

"What price?" Dean wanted to know. He lifted the angel blade a bit, as a reminded of who held the power in this situation.

"A small one, I assure you, inconsequential really," Rumplestiltskin turned away and started walking towards the opposite wall. "All I ask in exchange for assistance in breaking the curse is that you allow me to kill the angel, Metatron, and will not interfere."

Dean frowned, unsure whether he should accept the deal. On the one hand, he wanted Metatron dead as much as the next guy. But it wasn't really his call to make. Of course, there were no stipulations that _Dean_ had to be the one to get in the way of Rumplestiltskin killing the angel—Castiel as well as Sam could do that job just fine. And anyways, Dean highly doubted that this fairytale character had the stuff to do away with an angel. It was a harmless deal, Dean supposed—inconsequential.

Still, he wondered what beef Rumplestiltskin had with Metatron. In the end, it wasn't really his business.

"Deal," Dean agreed. "Now tell me—"

" _Swear_ on your _life_ ," Rumplestiltskin prompted, talking through his teeth with a smile that was as friendly as a shark's. "Swear on your life that you will not interfere."

Dean stared at the imp for a few more seconds, but nodded in agreement. "I swear on my life that I'm not going to interfere with you killing Metatron. Happy?"

Rumplestiltskin nodded.

"Good," Dean said, growing impatient. "Now, what does Emma need to do to break this curse?"

"A kiss," Rumplestiltskin spoke carefully, looking up at Dean. "From her one true love."

Dean stared at the sleazy older man, seeing not a hint of a lie in his eyes. Apparently, a kiss of true love from one Emma Swan was what it took to break the stupid curse. And Dean had no small inkling as to who Rumplestiltskin seemed to think would be donating that kiss.

Dean felt his stomach tie up in knots. Because, deep down, he knew that there was a seedling of love growing inside him for Emma. He was just wary that Emma wouldn't feel the same way. And if the kiss was their only hope…

Dean was screwed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Warning** : There will be the death of a character in this chapter. It won't be graphic; I wanted to write a bit more in depth, however I don't know exactly who my audience is, so I kept the violence to an ambiguous minimum.

 

**Emma**

Emma and Ingrid had just walked into Ms. Smith's office, and Emma was trying to pretend she didn't recognize anything in the office. She sat down next to Ingrid, giving a small wave to Castiel as she turned around. He was sitting behind the front desk, grinning widely. He took a moment to call Ms. Smith in her office, to let her know that Emma was in the waiting room, before he got up and walked over to where Emma sat with her guardian.

"It will be just a minute," Castiel spoke softly, keeping up with the calming mood of the room. "Ms. Smith has another patient who she is wrapping up with. How are you doing, Emma?"

Emma smiled; it was a strange notion, but Castiel really did seem to care about how Emma was feeling. She supposed that was probably due to the whole 'Angel of the Lord' thing, but it was nice anyways. "I'm fine, thank you Mr. Winchester."

Castiel smiled again. "Has Dean mentioned anything about the Winter formal?"

Emma felt Ingrid glance down at her, but refused to look up at the older woman. She was, after all, an older sister, no matter the circumstances. Emma could still feel the thick presence of her fake memories pressing against the back of her skull, and they were all she needed to understand that Ingrid would inform Elsa, and the pair would heckle at her until she gave in and spilled her soul to them.

"Nope, didn't mention a thing," Emma replied with a tight smile, hoping a bit of prickliness would send Castiel away. Emma could feel tension slip into the air, could sense that Ingrid was just about to admonish her, when Ms. Smith came into the room with some strange boy in tow. He looked almost like—but it couldn't be—

"Emma!" The boy exclaimed, as if shocked to see her there. And if Emma didn't believe it before, there was no doubt about it now—the boy was LeRoy. His eyes were blue and wide, no signs of grumpiness or wrinkles. Emma could only guess that he was there due to anger issues, and the thought almost made her chuckle. She reeled the urge in, however, and gave LeRoy a half-wave.

LeRoy-as-a-kid blushed, and a scowl darkened his features. Ms. Smith put a hand on his shoulder, causing his attention to drift towards her. She didn't even need to say anything, before the annoyance simply drained out of LeRoy. Emma watched, with only a small bit of awe, as LeRoy nodded to her and wandered out of the building. Emma would've been concerned about where he was headed if she hadn't of noticed a regular-looking Happy waiting in a mini-van on the way in.

"Emma," Ms. Smith smiled warmly, "So good to see you, come on in!"

Emma stood up and walked towards the woman, glancing back at Ingrid only once. She'd offered to accompany Emma during the visit on their drive to the office, but Emma had declined. Ms. Smith was actually Hannah, who was an angel according to Dean. And odd as it was, Emma felt a strange need to protect Ingrid. _Just a couple of weeks ago she was the enemy,_ Emma thought, _but now she's my sister. I don't know if it's the curse talking, or fake-Emma rearing her teenaged head, but it almost feels_ right _._

It was strange, and Emma wasn't entirely certain about what she would do when she figured out how to break the curse. Would Ingrid go back to being her enemy? Would she be changed at all? What about Dean; what would happen to him…what would happen to _her_ and him? She'd only known him for a short while, and yet…

Emma didn't know. She didn't know what came after the 'yet,' and she didn't know what to do about it. She was used to shutting down, moving someplace new, after the 'yet' came around, after things got too complicated or heavy. But she couldn't do that here, and she was certain that she wouldn't want to anyways. She had _changed_ when Henry came into her life. For the better, she'd liked to think, though that was debatable.

"Emma, I'll be seeing you now," Ms. Smith intoned. Emma glanced up quickly, realized that she'd been hesitating in the foyer, and promptly followed after Ms. Smith. But then Ms Smith stopped, and Emma glanced at her in confusion.

"You know what?" Ms. Smith asked with a lilt in her voice. "Today isn't a half bad day. Why don't we go for a walk? If that is okay with you, Ms. Swan? Emma?"

"I'm fine with it," Ingrid replied. Emma shrugged, not seeing a difference. So outside they went.

The sky wasn't nearly so murky as it had been lately. There were birds chirping, cars driving past in a rush, and the smell of the forest was heavy, though they were close to the town's center. Emma awkwardly followed half a step behind Ms. Smith, waiting for the anvil to drop. They were nearing a quieter area of town when Ms. Smith finally spoke.

"Emma, I know that Dean has told you who I am," she turned, strolled towards the park across the street.

There were no children playing on it, much to Emma's surprise. It was late in the day, yet no kids? It seemed strange to her. She didn't question it though, as Ms. Smith walked up to the closest tree and faced Emma. She had earnest eyes, deep blue ones that plead with Emma to understand.

"An angel," Emma finally spoke, her young voice wavering.

Ms. Smith nodded her confirmation. "Yes, that is what I am. As is Castiel. But he has yet to tell you what he and his brother are. Am I correct?"

Emma furrowed her brow, frowning at the suggestion that Dean and Sam were something other than human. She squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes at Ms. Smith. "They're human," Emma replied sardonically. Did this chick really think she was going to pull one over on Emma? Emma considered telling her about her knack of being able to tell when a person was lying, but Ms. Smith was already talking.

"Of course," Ms. Smith conceded hastily. "That isn't what I meant. Has he told you what they do for a living?"

"They hunt _monsters_ ," Emma replied, crossing her arms over her stomach. She was seriously starting to doubt the weight of this woman's words—angel or not. "Demons, ghosts, vampires," _things I didn't even know existed._

Ms. Smith nodded. "In theory, they do. But do you think that, perhaps, monsters aren't the only ones endangered by the Winchester brothers?"

Emma frowned at this statement, taking a step towards the woman. What was she trying to say?

"Perhaps Dean is more monster than you think," Ms. Smith suggested. Emma was about to protest—she _knew_ Dean, he wouldn't harm a human—but Ms. Smith continued talking. "Give me the benefit of the doubt. Listen to what I have to say. And _then_ make your judgments."

Emma took a deep breath, turning away from Ms. Smith. She would give her the benefit of the doubt, she supposed. Ms. Smith at least deserved that. So Emma nodded her agreement, and waited with bated breath to hear Ms. Smith's words of condemnation towards Dean.

 

**Dean**

_What the hell even_ is _a kiss of true love_ , Dean wondered. Did such a thing exist, in the real world? He'd learned of it after reading the Story Book, and Emma had mentioned in passing that she'd saved the town of Storybrooke by giving a kiss of true love to her so. But those instances were different. It was…Emma. This was the real world, not Storybrooke, and it was Dean, not Emma.

And why in the hell had Dean been… _chosen_ to perform one with Emma? Dean contemplated this as he walked towards the counseling office he knew Emma to be at. He didn't know what he was planning to do, didn't have a strategy for…wooing her? He didn't have any friggin' clue. But he knew he'd better get the show on the road if he was planning on breaking this curse anytime soon.

Dean was so immersed in his thoughts that he nearly walked directly pass the office he'd broke into with Emma. Veering to the right, he burst through the door to find Emma's oldest sister sitting next to Castiel, chatting away. They both looked up when Dean entered. Castiel looked pleasantly surprised, and mildly amused, though Ingrid looked annoyed.

"Where's Emma?" Dean went straight to the point. He knew he didn't sound very intimidating with his cracking adolescent voice, but he tried to put some weight behind his tone.

"I don't see how it's any of your business," Ingrid said, at the same time Castiel replied with "She's out walking with Ms. Smith." The pair glanced at one another, and Castiel shrugged. Dean was out the door again, ignoring Castiel's calls after him. If things went as planned, he wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions of ignoring his stepparent.

Dean didn't know where Emma and Hannah had been walking, so he needed to be quick. Who knew what awful things Hannah was telling Emma, now that they had found her out? _She doesn't even need to lie_ , Dean thought as a wave of self-loathing passed over him, reminding Dean of all the horrible things he'd done, all the bad choices and merciless kills, innocent lives he'd taken. His footsteps wavered, but then he shook himself. Dean didn't have time to bemoan the poor choices of his past. The uncertainty of the present was enough of a weight upon his shoulders for the time being.

He picked up his pace, was practically jogging, when he spotted Emma's familiar golden hair. Her back was turned to him, as was Hannah's. Dean narrowed his eyes when he got close enough to hear what was being said.

"—a _monster_ , Emma. There is no salvation for that man. Please, believe me, saving Dean Winchester has been attempted, but he is beyond everything we have tried. You must see that."

"But—" Emma stuttered, sounding as if she were grasping at straws. "But he's—"

"A _monster_ ," Hannah repeated. "After all I have told you, surely you can draw the same conclusion for yourself."

Dean frowned, feeling as if an oily residue were collecting in his stomach. He didn't know what Hannah was trying to tell Emma about him, but he knew it wouldn't be anything good. Slipping the angel sword out of his pocket, Dean prepared to do what he needed to—if Emma thought he was a monster, then how the hell was she supposed to kiss him and save everyone?

In hindsight, attempting to murder an angel probably wasn't the best way to get on Emma's good side—or anyone's good side, for that matter. But Dean wasn't thinking clearly, hadn't been thinking clearly since his talk with Rumplestiltskin. Even a hunter like Dean had his limits, and Dean felt as if he were riding the edge between insanity and apathy. But he had to do what was right, for Sammy, Emma, and all the people trapped in this town.

He made it within five feet of her before she must've heard him coming, or felt him coming, and turned around. But by then she had already lost the fight. The angel blade was shoved into her chest by his hand, and as the life fluttered from her eyes—or the eyes of the shell Hannah was inhabiting—Emma turned around too, taking in the scene before her with the wide eyes of a child.

Dean would have given anything to know what Hannah had told her, to know what Emma was thinking in that instant as her mouth dropped open and a thin breath of air spilled from her. He counted the seconds as they dragged by, with Emma staring at Dean in horror as he stood up from where he'd been kneeling, wiped the blood from the blade with his flannel shirt, and took a step towards her.

Emma flinched, opened her mouth only to close it again. And without a word, she took off running.

Dean stared after her, briefly considered following her.

But he didn't.

After all, what was he going to say? Dean's stomach clenched. He stuffed the blade back in his pocket, spared a glance towards Hannah's body, and started attacking the nearest tree as anger, frustration, and hatred poured through his limbs.

"God _damn_ it!" Dean shouted, taking another swing at the tree.

By the time he'd worn himself out, his knuckles were bloody and he thought one of his fingers might be broken, though the tree was no worse for wear. Dean couldn't say the same about Emma, or the rest of the people in the town. Because of Dean's decision, he'd pretty much screwed everything over. _Again_.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** Finally! We are here! I am so not good with emotional scenes, so I hope this turned out all right. I decided to take it from a different angle, and here we are. I feel like I should explain what is going on here; the italicized bits are the past, and the regular bits are the present at the Winter Formal dance. Then, for Dean's part, we jump back to the day after Emma saw Dean kill Hannah and go from there, which will explain why Emma's present bits are the way they are. If anything is confusing, please comment so I can explain it!

 

**Emma**

Emma met Dean's eyes from across the room. Her stomach flipped; he's dressed to the nines in a fitted suit, looking like he'd be perfectly at home in an James Bond movie, playing the lead role of course. A small smile flitted across his features, and he started making his way towards Emma.

_"Okay, lay it on me," Emma prompted after a moment of silence. She didn't know why she was encouraging the woman—the angel—to tell her of all that Dean had done to make himself a monster in the eye of an angel. Did she really want to know?_

No, _thought Emma._ But I need to know.

 _So she listened to the harsh words Ms. Smith had to say; Dean dealing with demons, the very creatures he sought to kill._ But I am sure he had a reason, _Emma thought, denying that this was a clear strike against Dean and his character._

In fact, he's best friends with the king of Hell. _Emma didn't even know what that meant. Did that mean he was best friends with the devil, or was the king of Hell someone else entirely? Emma had no background knowledge to make her think that being friends with a king of Hell was something bad—Dean seemed to think that angels were the bad guys, so wouldn't that make demons good guys? Emma said as much to Ms. Smith, which gave her pause._

Looking down at herself, Emma smoothed out her dark green dress and straightened. Then _she_ started walking towards _him_. _Might as well meet him halfway_ , Emma thought.

 

_"You understand the concept of hell, yes?" Came Ms. Smith's voice after a moment. Emma hesitated, unsure of whether or not she was walking into a verbal trap._

_"Big fiery pit of eternal damnation? Red man with horns and a pitchfork goes around poking bad guys? I think I get the gist," Emma finally responded._

_"Dean went to hell."_

 

"You look great," Dean intoned when they were within a yard of each other. Emma suppressed a smile.

"Thanks. So do you."

 

_"Come again?" Emma returned, turning around so that she could look Ms. Smith in the eye. "Dean's as alive as they come; I'm pretty sure I would know if he were dead."_

_"Yes, well, he was saved by the angel Castiel; I believe you've met him." Ms. Smith narrowed her eyes, though it seemed that she was more upset with the fact that Dean was brought out of Hell than that Emma was being prickly. "The point is, Dean spent four months—what would have felt like forty_ years _, to him—in Hell."_

_"So?" Emma wanted to know, though she had a feeling of what the other woman was hinting at. If Hell was anything like Emma had heard throughout her life…being in that place for long enough would doubtless be enough to change a person._

 

They stood awkwardly for a few moments, simply staring at each other. Emma was the first to break the silence—between the pair, at least, considering that they were at a dance and the music was thumping loudly against Emma's eardrums.

"So, I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and—"

"You don't have to give me an answer right now," Dean hurried to assure her. Emma tried to suppress another smile, but it wasn't happening. She felt it bubble up to the surface, and she let it go.

"The thing is," Emma said carefully, taking a step closer to Dean. Immediately, she felt one of his hands touch her fingertips. "I _want_ to give you an answer right now."

_"He was tortured for the first thirty years of his time there. Every day, cut into and dissected, tortured in ways your human mind cannot even comprehend. Pain you have never felt before was wrought upon him. And at the end of each session, he was healed, only for the torture to begin anew. At the end of each day, he had to make a decision." Emma felt a cold ball of dread unfurl in her stomach; she knew the next words, she could hear them echoing through her mind even before Ms. Smith said them and seared them into her mind. "Be tortured again, or start torturing the other souls._

_"And for thirty years, Dean managed to say no. He held out for longer than anyone thought he would be able to. But in the end, the Winchester stubbornness was not enough. After thirty years of the most inhumane torture methods you can imagine, and thousands of different ones you can't, Dean agreed. And he tortured the other souls, for ten long years. Using the very same methods and weapons that were used on him."_

_"But that's hardly—" Emma started, her voice choking up. She needed time to think, to think on how she felt about this new information. But Ms. Smith didn't give her time._

_"That's not even the worst of it. In doing so, Dean triggered the start of the start of the apocalypse; the end of the world. He broke the first seal on Lucifer's cage and allowed his brother to break the last seal, setting Lucifer free—"_

_"Slow down!" Emma exclaimed, turning her back to Ms. Smith again. She was having a hard time breathing, her heartbeat was going way too fast, and she needed to calm herself before she started freaking out. She couldn't understand what Ms. Smith was talking about—what's a seal? Why was Lucifer, the devil,_ whatever _, in a cage? Why was this the first Emma was hearing of an apocalypse? Had this all been happening while she was trying to break a curse in Storybrooke?_

 

"So, I've been thinking a lot about what you said," Emma started again, letting Dean take her hand in his own. It felt rough in hers, callused and worn. _And Emma loved the feeling_. "And I have your answer."

 

 _"_ Listen to me _," Ms. Smith said emphatically. "He is a_ monster _, Emma. There is no salvation for that man. Please, believe me, saving Dean Winchester has been attempted, but he is beyond everything we have tried. You must see that."_

_"But—" Emma interrupted, thinking of Dean's infrequent smile, and how helpful he'd been since learning of Emma's quest. "But he's—"_

_"A_ monster _," Ms. Smith said again, just as firmly. "After all I have told you, surely you can draw the same conclusion for yourself."_

 _Emma couldn't. She didn't believe that the Dean she knew could torture anyone. And even if he had, she was sure that she would've cracked while being_ tortured _in Hell after less time. Straightening herself, Emma turned to tell Ms. Smith as much—but what she saw made her stomach drop._

"And?" Dean asked. It felt, to Emma, as if there was a wall between them in that moment. Emma smiled even wider, because she could _understand_ that wall. Countless times, for countless years, she had been on the other side of that wall. _She'd_ been the one blocking people out, keeping her emotions in check, keeping herself from living…from loving. She knew exactly what Dean was feeling right then, because she'd felt it herself.

Instead of answering, Emma took another step forward, grasping Dean's other hand and pulling it onto her hip. She put her hand on his shoulder, as if they were dancing, and leaned in close.

"And…" Emma trailed off, looking up at Dean. She smiled— _that's enough suspense for one night,_ she thought, and stood as tall as she could to look Dean in the eyes.

 

_Dean stood there behind Ms. Smith, holding her gasping body. Ms. Smith's eyes met Emma's, and Emma watched as the life was sapped from them. She stood, staring at Dean as he tugged the blade from her chest, wiped it on his shirt, and took a step towards her._

_Emma flinched, and opened her mouth to say something—anything, nothing, she didn't know. But the words wouldn't come. She felt as if she was frozen in this shocked state, frozen in time, with Dean holding the knife and Ms. Smith's body slumped on the ground. Emma felt light-headed, hazy, and her thoughts were sluggish in her mind. She couldn't understand the scene before her, even though what happened was blatantly obvious._

_So she did what had always come easiest to her. She ran. She ran as fast as she could for as long as she could, and when she was out of breath, she started to jog. When she couldn't jog, she walked. She made it home before she couldn't walk—but only barely—and hurried up the stairs before Elsa could stop her, locked the door to her room behind her, and collapsed on her bed._

_She had a lot to think about._

"I don't need to think about it anymore," Emma said simply. "I love you, Dean," she whispered, her lips brushing against his mouth. She felt his lips part slightly, but otherwise he didn't move. He was frozen in time, in the moment, in the instant that Emma's words were reaching his ears. And Emma knew how to break _that_ curse.

She leaned a centimeter forward and touched his lips to his—and that was all it took for the smoke to start billowing from the ground, pooling around Emma and Dean's feet. The world started dissolving around her.

 

The world was spinning around them, falling, black and blue and neon green, but Emma held onto Dean's hand and they rode through the vortex together.

Emma held Dean's shoulder tightly, and his fingers dug into her hip. And when the spinning finally settled, when the world righted itself, they were still together, clinging tightly to one another in their formal clothes.

Emma's eyes were screwed tightly shut—she'd have thrown up on Dean otherwise. Taking a deep breath, she slowly peeled her eyes open and took her first look at the adult Dean.

"Hey," she gasped out finally, her green eyes fastening on his.

Dean grinned. "Hey yourself."

 

**Dean**

"Tell him I'm _not_ interested," Dean heard Emma enunciate through the door. He frowned, and was about to make his presence known, to explain himself, to do _something_ , but Elsa beat him to the punch.

"He _really_ wants to talk to you, Emma," Elsa replied through the door. Dean could hear creaking footsteps on the other side—so Emma was pacing. Dean didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad one.

"Maybe I should just—"

" _No_ ," Elsa interrupted Dean vehemently. Dean stared at the girl standing in front of him, momentarily shocked at the strength in her voice. He couldn't believe that this _wasn't_ Emma's actual sister. "She needs to talk to you, and if I have to break down her door to get her to, well, so be it."

Dean lifted his hands up in surrender, taking a quick step back. He did _not_ want to be standing at the business end of Elsa.

Ten minutes of Elsa pounding at Emma's door later, Dean had finally had it. Either she was coming out, or he was sure as hell going to come in.

"Emma!" Dean yelled, then cleared his throat. He didn't know if she was still afraid of him. "Emma," Dean tried again softly. "I need to talk with you."

There was silence on the other side of the door, for once. Dean felt his heart stutter, but a moment later the door to Emma's room opened. Emma, looking worse for wear than she had the last he'd seen her, glanced between Elsa and Dean. Then, silently, she stepped aside and indicated that Dean should enter.

Dean held his breath as he passed over the threshold to her room, and closed the door behind him. He glanced around the room, not sure about what to expect. It was certainly more personalized than Dean's room—or, Dean's fake room, he supposed. There were clothes spilling over her dresser, a vanity that had various girl things resting on it, and a couple of posters that made Dean do a double-take.

The room was mostly dark, with only a bit of light streaming through the mostly-closed curtains. Dean wanted to open the curtains, shed light on the entire room, but couldn't bring himself to do it. This was _Emma's_ room, and he felt as if he would be crossing some boundary if he tried that. Plus, he wasn't sure where he stood with Emma herself—which he needed to figure out _pronto_.

"What did you do with her body?" Emma asked, startling Dean. He looked up at her, her face cast in shadows, and swallowed. He'd expected that he would need to be the one to initiate the conversation, but apparently that wasn't the case. "Ms. Smith has officially been declared missing."

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, uh, her body was taken care of." He said simply. He didn't need to get into the gory details of dragging her body through the park—and thank the friggin' heavens that it _was_ a park instead of somewhere more populated—to a secluded area, leaving it propped up somewhere so that it looked like it was sleeping, and then hurrying to the hardware store to get a shovel. It wasn't a great setup, the corpse probably was only a couple feet under, and no doubt would be discovered eventually. But by then, Dean would hopefully be back to his old self.

And he did want to get back to his old self, he realized. He'd thought, for a while, that he was being given a second chance at life by being de-aged back into a teenager. But…well, it wasn't the same without Sammy. The _real_ Sammy, not the lawyer-paper-cutout. Not only that, but Emma—

Emma snorted. "Yeah? And how many times have you had to—to _take care_ of bodies?"

Dean winced, but didn't reply. It was a rhetorical question anyways; Emma kept talking.

" _Why_ , Dean? Why did you kill her? What did you—what do you expect me to _do_?"

Dean shook his head, steeling himself. He deserved this. He deserved all of her vehemence, all of the rancor she could muster. He didn't know why he'd killed Hannah—except that it had been the easiest thing to do. He _needed_ to break this curse so he could get back to his life. But it was more than that. He _needed_ Emma to see him for who he was, not just for the lies—or the harsh truths—that Hannah had been feeding her.

What was the worst of all, was that he'd ruined all of that—ruined the lives of every damn soul in this god forsaken town—by screwing up and killing Hannah in front of Emma. There was no chance in hell she would ever be able to love a guy like Dean.

"Will you at least listen to my side of the story?" Dean asked, raising his volume. When it doubt, get aggressive. He knew when to give up hope. And while he knew nothing he said could ever fix things—he didn't _deserve_ to have things fixed—he would rest a little easier knowing that he'd at least tried.

"That is all I want to here," Emma spoke softly. Dean glanced up, then quickly looked away. He couldn't handle the earnest expression on her face. "Tell me your side of the story, Dean."

Dean took a breath.

And he told her.

But when it started coming out, it didn't start where he'd expected it to—he didn't start by justifying his actions. Instead, he started at the beginning.

Dean could still hear the words echoing in his ears, after all these years. _Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Now Dean, Go!_

He told her about growing up and practically raising Sammy—how proud he was when Sam went off to college, but how devastated he was that he would lose his best friend. He told her about getting back into the family business of hunting with Sam, how he'd been excited but also ashamed at his own excitement—of course, he couldn't let Sammy in on any of that. And from there, he told her his story.

Honestly, Dean didn't know what to think of the expressions floating across Emma's face—she was a bit of an open book, really—so he ended up just looking away from her as he talked, speaking more to her walls than anything. He didn't know how long it took to get everything out, but when he was finished it was nighttime, Emma was yawning, and Dean felt as if a weight had been lifted from his entire being.

He waited a full minute for Emma to say something. He'd never had very much patience, so it was amazing that he'd managed to wait that long. But finally, after all of that waiting, he couldn't handle the silence, and spoke.

"So…yeah," Dean coughed, frowning at his spectacular utterance.

"Wow," Emma said, and Dean tried not to take anything away from her tone of voice or her choice of words. "That's quite the back story."

Dean shrugged. "I…figured I had to start somewhere." _Why not the beginning?_

Emma didn't reply for a moment, and Dean was about to try saying something again, when she finally spoke. "I…Honestly Dean, I never really thought of you as a monster. I didn't…well I guess I didn't really believe what Ms. Smith was saying. I just…"

"Yeah, I get it," Dean interrupted. And he did get it; hell, if it was Emma saying these things, he doubt he would take her half as seriously, or react half as well. But there was still one more thing that he needed to get off his chest before they were all in the clear.

"I went to talk to Rumplestiltskin," Dean said, getting straight to the point. "And he said the only way to break this curse is a kiss from you…to your true love."

Emma's brow furrowed, and then her eyes widened comically. She seemed to understand what he was getting at, for which he was grateful; he didn't want to have to spell it out for her. And for a moment, with the considering expression on her face, Dean's spirits lifted.

But then she spoke the four words that Dean considered his death sentence. "I need to think."'

Dean nodded quickly. He could understand that, respect that. But…

"Okay," Dean agreed, turning to leave. "But…well, let's just say we've got the bases covered on my end." And with that, he left the room.

 

**Rumplestiltskin**

Rumplestiltskin waited. And he waited. And he waited. He waited until he could _feel_ the change in the air, feel the ripple of True Love Magic that signaled the curse was breaking, and he knew he had to work fast. He had the circular symbol drawn on the floor, the curling mousy brown hair clenched between his fingers, and the spell in his right hand. He just had to wait until the moment was right and—

_Now._

He started casting the spell.

 

**Storybrooke; Gold's Pawn Shop**

"What have you done? Let me out, you fool!" The wheezing man said, glaring at the other man who _wasn't_ trapped to the area in a two foot radius.

"Now why would I do that?" The smirking man asked, leaning forward. His eyes narrowed dangerously on the trapped angel. "I have you right where I've always wanted you," he explained, and then turned away. This infuriated the trapped man, but there was nothing he could do except watch as his captor started rummaging through the shop, looking for a few specific items.

"I gave you what you wanted," the trapped man grit out, clenching his red hands tightly. "You had your wife, you had a child, a truly _idyllic_ little life. What _more_ could you possibly want?"

The other man snorted. "Ah, yes, you gave me _everything_ a man could want. But I am no ordinary man, dearie. And there is one little thing you forgot to give me." And with that, he turned, stalked towards the edge of the circle.

"I want _power_. And you're going to give it to me." He snorted then, laughing at the man he held captive. "I want to rule more than this little town. I want what every villain wants; the world. And with the power of an angel…well, I will have the world at my fingertips. And no one, least of all you, will be able to stop me."


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time, I do not own Supernatural, and I do not own a Carhartt jacket.

 

**Emma**

_"Hey," Emma gasped out finally, her eyes fastening on Dean's green ones._

_Dean grinned. "Hey yourself," he responded._

Emma took another deep breath, taking a step back, so that she could get a proper look at Dean. He was, in fact, probably in his mid thirties, just a few years older than Emma. He'd certainly matured since his teenage years, and was sporting a military-style haircut with some stubble—though his style was exactly the same as it had been. He was wearing a tan flannel button-up over a white t-shirt, all underneath a heavy Carhartt jacket. His jeans were well-worn, and his boots were heavy duty.

"So this—" Emma started, but was interrupted by a startled voice calling her name.

"Mom!" Emma exclaimed, turning to find herself enveloped in her mother's warm embrace a moment later. Well, half her mother's embrace—Mary Margaret was snuggling baby Neal in her other arm. Emma felt Dean's eyes on her back, but chose to focus on returning Mary Margaret's hug.

"Emma," David exhaled. Emma felt his arms wrapping around her, too. Emma could hear a commotion going on around her—probably the disgruntled citizens of Storybrooke wondering why the hell they'd just woken up from _yet another_ curse, and wondering who the culprit was. She allowed herself a few more seconds of the embrace before breaking away from her parents and glancing around.

The first thing she noticed was the eerie, near-blinding light emanating from Gold's shop. The townspeople were slowly crowding around his shop, though no one dared enter.

"What the hell?" Emma glanced back, turning her attention towards the man who spoke. She wasn't used to Dean's adult voice. Emma was about to respond, but the arrival of Regina and Henry on the scene in a swirl of purple smoke stopped her.

Letting go of her parents, Emma hurried to Henry. Her heart swelled with warmth at finally being able to hold her son again. She pressed her lips to his hair and sighed, before drawing back.

"Are you okay?" She asked him seriously. Henry nodded, smiled a crooked smile, and turned towards Dean.

"So, who are you? I don't remember reading about you in my story book." Emma grinned as Henry surveyed the older male from his boots to his roots.

"He's not in the story book," Emma explained, glancing at the ever-brightening pawn shop. "But I'll explain everything to you later, okay? Right now _you_ need to go home with Grandma. Grandpa and I will check out the pawn shop." Emma looked to her father, who nodded assuredly before kissing Mary Margaret and hurrying towards the shop.

Emma kissed Henry's cheek, gave him a look that was hopefully reassuring, and followed after her father. After a moment, she heard Dean hurrying up behind her. He didn't say anything, just followed along as the trio hurried to the pawn shop.

"Locked," David exhaled after jiggling the handle of the store. Emma had an abrupt mental image of her adult father with his teenage hair, and almost let out a laugh—but not was not the time for jokes. She moved in front of the door, checking her pockets to see if she had any lock pick tools handy when—

Dean kicked the door open. Emma glanced up at him, a startled expression on her face—Dean simply shrugged, and followed David inside.

David, who was muttering "I could have done that," under his breath, was the first to enter, followed by Dean, and then Emma. Emma tailed after the pair, but was the first to reach for her gun when she saw the scene unfolding in front of her.

What she was seeing, Emma didn't know. There was blinding light, Rumplestiltskin was chanting, there was a man convulsing on the ground. The brightness intensified, and Emma squinted to see the scene. Her heart started beating faster. Noticing he was about to be stopped, Rumplestiltskin threw out an arm—Emma, Dean, and David all went flying back against the closest wall.

Emma hit the back wall, felt her skull crack against something, her hip crashed into her father's stomach and her knee went into someone's groin. Picking herself up, Emma whirled to face the Dark One.

He'd stopped chanting, though the light wasn't disappearing—no, instead it was being _siphoned_ from the open area of the pawn shop, straight into Rumplestiltskin. He had a mad look about him, and Emma had a bad feeling about what would happen next.

"What are you doing?" Emma shouted over the chaos of the light, and the crashing artifacts and flying papers. She could hardly hear her own voice—but somehow, Rumplestiltskin managed to make out her words.

"It's too late, deary!" He shouted, grinning madly as the man's convulsing started to slow down. "You're too late!"

"No!" Emma shouted. She felt her blood boiling. She didn't understand what was going on, but she knew, she could _feel_ that she had to do something about it. She let her anger trickle down to her palms, felt the light magic pool at her fingertips, and she _leapt_ towards Rumplestiltskin, not hearing her father's shouts or Dean's warnings. She collided, hard, into Rumplestiltskin and let the magic that had pooled in her hands drive into him.

Emma felt something break under her palms—not any part of her own body, not even something physical. She felt something break in Rumplestiltskin as her fingers drove into his chest. She could feel his heart—his _beating heart_ against the pads of her fingers, and it felt wrong. It was beating thickly, felt hardened and _far_ too warm. Emma frowned, and dug her fingers into the shriveled thing. But she didn't pull.

She cleansed.

She let her light magic filter through it, pass through the thickness, what she knew must have been very dark magic, and purified the heart. She wouldn't have known she had that power if she wasn't utilizing it in that moment. She could feel Rumplestiltskin talking, speaking frantically, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. There was a thumping in her skull, a jackknife pounding and fracturing her head. Emma screamed in pain, felt herself falling backwards—

and then there was nothing.

 

**Dean**

Dean looked down at the woman before him, trying not to stare—but _damn_. Emma had definitely grown up well. And from the way she was looking at Dean, he could tell that the sentiment was returned. Dean shuffled his feet, glanced down at his boots, and was about to say something—probably something that didn't even begin to cover the range of emotions he was feeling in that moment—but she spoke up before he got the chance.

"So this—" She started.

"Emma!" Dean glanced up to see an adult version of one of the teenagers Emma had called her friends hurrying towards them. Emma turned around and was immediately wrapped in a hug. Dean looked away politely. A moment later, a man came up and hugged the pair as well—Dean put two and two together, recognizing the pair as Snow White and Prince Charming; Emma's parents. Dean looked away, allowing the trio to have their moment in private.

He was startled when two things happened almost at once—the first being a blinding light that erupted from a storefront a couple yards away from where the group was standing. The second being that Henry and Mrs. Mills arrived on scene in a _poof_ of friggin' purple smoke. Dean had been more concerned with finding his brother and Castiel beforehand, now he decided he needed to get Emma attention to see if that was normal—he didn't know the first _thing_ about how magical towns operated. Who was to say that this wasn't a normal occurrence?

Dean was interrupted with his searching, however, when Henry spoke up. He didn’t look any different—though he was one of the only ones. All around him, people were wandering around, calling out complaints and questions. Though some of them look familiar, Dean wasn't sure who was who from his time in 'Blue Lake.'

"So, who are you?" The kid asked. "I don't remember reading about you in my story book."

 _That's because I'm not in the book, kid,_ Dean thought, about to tell Henry just that. Emma beat him to the punch. "He's not in the story book. But I'll explain everything to you later, okay? Right now _you_ need to go home with grandma. Grandpa and I will check out the pawn shop."

Dean wondered why she and David were responsible for checking out the pawn shop. None of the other citizens seemed so inclined, but that didn't mean it fell to the pair. Sure, David was the King of the Enchanted Forest—but this was Storybrooke, and as far as Dean knew, Maine didn't have kings.

Emma and her father didn't seem to care. David simply tried the door to the pawn shop, muttering that it was locked shortly after. Dean smirked—he'd had plenty of run-ins with locked doors, and knew how to deal with this kind of thing.

Emma looked up at him while David went inside, muttering that he could have done the same thing. Dean simply shrugged, and hurried after David.

Inside the pawn shop, there was chaos. Dean couldn't see much, so blinded was he by the bright white light that seemed to be emanating from Rumplestiltskin, who was chanting over Metatron's convulsing body. He took a step forward, trying to come up with some way to stop whatever dark ceremony was going on, when he felt himself being thrown back in a blast of the same white light that was coming from the Dark One.

Emma was thrown into Dean and David, and he could feel someone's elbow go into his groin. Cringing, Dean winced again as his head was smashed against something hard. Emma was the first to recover. Dean watched as she confronted the man, who was being wrapped in bright white light, though he was no longer chanting. Dean tried to stand up, struggle to his feet, but he felt as if a giant hand was holding him down. They were talking—Dean couldn't hear what they were saying, but he forced himself to stand anyways.

"Emma, don't listen to him!" Dean shouted as Emma lunged towards Rumplestiltskin, her hand going into his chest. David, too, was trying to get her to step away from the man and whatever spell he was casting.

"Stop!" Above the intense noise, Dean could finally hear what Rumplestiltskin was trying to say. "What are you doing? How are you doing this? It's not possible, not without—" But he was cut off, and in a blinding flash, Dean felt as if his insides were being turned to his outsides, like his skin was being flayed. He screamed, and heard someone else join in his screaming.

When the world rematerialized, the pain faded, the screaming halted, Dean was left panting on a field of bright, green grass. The cheery blue sky was above him, birds were singing all around, and there was a rushing sound filling his ears.

Dean groaned, and forced himself onto his elbows. Looked around, looked for any sign of anything.

Beside him, Emma was groaning. They were alone in the middle of a field. In the distance, Dean could see a spiky-looking castle, one that didn't look familiar in the slightest.

Glancing back down at Emma, he marveled at her strange outfit—a beige dress with a light blue cloak. Her hair was long and curled, held back by a plain beige headband.

And then it clicked.

He and Emma, and probably the whole town of Storybrooke, had returned to the Enchanted Forest.


	18. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural, and I do not own Once Upon a Time.

 

**Epilogue**

There was stillness in the Enchanted forest moments before the surge of power that reversed all curses put into effect and brought the denizens of Storybrooke back to the Enchanted Forest. It was a quite stillness, a calm stillness. A dead stillness.

Then, in a swath of white smoke, people started to appear. Back to the places they'd been deposited from, back to the places they belonged. And if they didn't belong in the world to start with, they showed up with _who_ they belonged with.

Which is why Snow White awoke next to Prince Charming, Regina Mills was waking next to Robin Hood, and Samuel Winchester was blinking himself into conscious right next to Castiel.

And why one Dean Winchester could be seen waking next to one Emma Swan.

 

Rumplestiltskin and Metatron had disappeared. Though the entire kingdom searched, no one could find hide nor hair of either of the villains. They were gone with the wind, or had perhaps perished in the bright, burning light of the ancient spell had unwittingly cast; the spell of Purified Hearts. Regina and Castiel had theorized that, when Emma's light magic had purged every last bit of darkness—including the darkness he had absorbed from Metatron in the angel's last moments—from Rumplestiltskin's heart, the act was one of such lightness and purity, that all dark curses were forced to reset themselves.

Of course, it was all just theory, and even the Blue Fairy had no clue such a spell could ever be performed.

 

It took Dean, Castiel, and Sam while to adjust to life in the Enchanted Forest—a life free of hunting, of killing, and of constant danger. He still had his doubts that he truly _belonged_ in the Enchanted Forest—the same doubts were shared by Emma. Together, they agreed to try their best to forge forward, and create a _new_ life in the Enchanted Forest.

Though, most nights, any one of them could be found in the castle's vast libraries, looking for information on curses, and on different realms. Whether they ever found information, it didn't seem to matter all that much. As long as they were together, well…you know how it goes.

There's nothing that can't be done with the power of true love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I have the first 15 chapters written up already. I will be posting them a week apart. This is set after episode 10.05 in supernatural and episode 4.08 in Once Upon a Time. I hope you enjoyed! Please tell me what you think!  
> -Ashlee Frame


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